


Darklight

by we_all_fall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean Winchester, Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Sam Winchester, Dominant Sam Winchester, Exhibitionism, Forced Marriage, Hair-pulling, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Raised Apart, Rape, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Samulet (Supernatural), Self-Harming Sam Winchester, Sibling Incest, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 56
Words: 55,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_all_fall/pseuds/we_all_fall
Summary: Dean didn’t want to like a demon. Not sexually, not as a friend, companion and hunting partner, and definitely not romantically. But the boy-king is everything Dean never thought a demon could be, and with him everything is terrifyingly easy.
Relationships: (minor)Sam/Alistair, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 182
Kudos: 190





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> It’s advent season! I’m so excited! And what better time to start writing for a new ship? So I’m trying out wincest, and so far I’m really liking writing it.  
> Warning: Dean swears a lot. Also brief torture.

The room Dean got kidnapped to was jam packed, like every hunter in the states had been shoved in there. Dean was pissed. What kinda monster just teleported you from your motel bathroom to a room with no windows or doors and a bunch of angry armed hunters? And Dean didn’t even have his pants, dammit, just a fucking towel. 

Some idiot hunter with boots (Why’d the monster hafta kidnap Dean when he was fucking barefoot? He was jealous as shit of those boots.) was trying to kick down the obviously rock wall. That shit wasn’t budging. Another idiot hunter was shooting up the rock ceiling. It wasn’t doing much, just making Dean’s ears ring and wasting bullets. If he had a weapon he’d save it for when it was actually fucking useful. 

A dude in all white popped into the room. The lucky hunters with guns shot him. Dean just stood there awkwardly holding his towel in place around his waist. Those hunters weren’t so lucky, though. The guy clenched his fist, and everybody who’d shot at him started shrieking and fell to the floor. It was kinda painful to watch. Least the guy was bleeding. His fancy white clothes were red all over, even if it didn’t seem to affect him. If it bleeds, you can kill it. Dean would figure some shit out. 

A hunter tried to stab the guy, but a flick of the dude’s hand and that hunter was screaming on the ground too. So guns and knives wouldn’t work. Didn’t matter; Dean didn’t have those anyway. He coulda had a gun, a silver knife, and pants if he’d just not showered that morning, but oh well. Fists were always worth a shot. Dean attacked. 

His fist was almost to that hood covered monster face when he got hit with this super pain nightmare shit. It hurt worse than anything he’d ever got hunting. Brutal, splitting pain tearing through his head, his body. It was like he’d taken a bath in wasabi paste and had taste buds all over. He was burning, dying. He couldn’t think. Was he screaming? It was over. 

“Holy fucking shit!” Dean said. He was shaking, panting. Stinging everywhere. Were there fucking tears in his eyes? He brushed them away. Reflex tears. Dean was no wuss. 

Shit. His towel. Dean grabbed it and put it around his waist. He realized he’d fallen right at the fucking monster’s feet. Not cool. He sat up, but felt nauseous and didn’t try to stand. 

Some dumbass on the ground picked up his gun again and tried to aim it at the monster. That fist clenched, and the hunter screamed and screamed, dropping his gun and shaking on the ground. It was sickening. Somebody peed themselves. It was a long time before the screams stopped. 

A whole bunch of hunters were all talking at once: questioning, demanding, yelling, threatening. Dean scooted away from the monster. Several feet away he struggled up to his feet. He was Dean Winchester, pain sure as hell wasn’t keeping him down. He just needed a smart way to attack again. 

The monster pushed his hood back. He didn’t look monstery, or evil. He was just a kid. 22? 23? Couple years younger than Dean, at least. Warm hazel eyes, a strong jaw, hair that shoulda been girly it was so long, but somehow came across all dominant and shit. He was hot. Not that Dean paid attention to hotness in guys or anything. Just like, in a general sense Dean could tell he was hot. 

Those hazel eyes turned yellow, and Dean’s brain froze. 

Yellow eyes. Yellow. The yellow eyed demon. Fire, choking, panic. He’d run out of the house all those years ago. Dad came out after a while, but Mom, Sammy: they didn’t make it. It was all down to Yellow Eyes. These yellow eyes?

Gunshots, more screaming, quiet. Dean didn’t notice, his brain a mess of panicked thoughts as he tried to figure this out. The yellow eyed demon. The yellow eyed demon. Here? How was he supposed to do this with his dad dead? How was he supposed to do this at all? Even with two of them, all they’d done was get their asses kicked and Dad killed. 

“My father was Azazel,” the boy with the yellow eyes said, “You might have heard of him as the yellow eyed demon. He’s been ruling hell for a long time. I killed him.”

Not the yellow eyed demon? Not the demon who’d killed Mom, Sammy, Dad? Dean’s brain struggled. 

“So you’re the king of hell now,” a hunter said. 

“Yes.” The yellow eyed boy smiled. “As I said, I want to make a deal with all you hunters. You’ve noticed the increase in demonic activity over the past three weeks since I killed my father. You’re overwhelmed. I could kill all of you, right here, right now.”

“Why don’t you fucking get on with it, then?” Dean asked. 

“All this bloodshed and fighting, where does it really get us?” Yellow said, “If all of you stop interfering with deals where the person freely agreed to go to hell, then I’ll have my demons stop killing and tempting the rest of America. It’ll be just deals. I’ll even make sure the meat suits get out alive.”

“We don’t deal with your kind, you freak!” a hunter yelled. 

Yellow clenched his fist again, and that hunter dropped, screaming. 

“Did I mention that I can kill you all and leave this lovely country completely vulnerable to every kind of monster?” Yellow’s voice dripped with sweetness and made Dean’s hair stand on end. He wanted to gank this son of a bitch, but he didn’t want all that pain and it wouldn’t help anyway. There had to be a way out of this. 

“So you just want us to ignore demon deals,” a hunter said, her voice resigned. 

“Yes,” Yellow said, “We’ll need something a little stronger than a kiss to seal this deal. Something that binds a hunter to me, forever.” His eyes locked on Dean. 

“What the fuck,” Dean said. 

Yellow approached. He was taller than Dean, and sort of intimidating. Dean clutched his towel and stuck his chin in the air. Yellow’s hands were warm on the sides of Dean’s face. Those yellow eyes were creepy as fuck, and Dean wanted out of there, ASAP. 

“Marry me.”


	2. ii

“Gah! Son of a bitch!” Dean squawked, pulling away and tripping backwards, falling painfully to the floor. Yellow looked like he was about to fucking laugh, the son of a bitch. “What the fuck, man!”

“Marry me, Dean Winchester,” Yellow repeated, “Don’t make me choose another hunter. None of them are appealing, and I just might decide to slaughter everyone instead.”

“We’re both dudes!” Dean said, “We can’t get fucking married.”

“Dean,” Yellow said, “Nobody considered same sex marriage a problem until 342 AD. It was quite normal until then. We’re getting married in hell, by hell’s rules, where the leading demons were mostly all dead by 342.”

“What?” Dean said, “but I’m not gay!”

Yellow licked his lips. “Most humans are really bi or pan when it comes down to it,” he said. 

“Fucking hell!” Dean said, “No! We’re not getting married. Shit.” 

“Alright,” Yellow said, “I’m not going to force you. I might just kill all of you. End the whole problem the easy way.” 

“Son of a bitch!” What could Dean do? He couldn’t just let Yellow kill all the hunters. And Dean wasn’t worth much. He’d always been a bad hunter, and he should’ve died in that car crash. He was just alive because his dad made a stupid deal. These hunters, they were all really alive. Dean couldn’t let them all die, he wasn’t worth it. “I’ll do it,” he said, “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll do it.”

Yellow’s smile was almost warm, and the yellow left his eyes, leaving that cute hazel color. That wasn’t cute. Not at all. Fucking hell. 

“We’ll be married in three weeks time,” he said, “If you absolutely can’t stand me then, I will choose someone else.” He offered Dean his hand. 

Dean ignored it and got up on his own. He could fucking stand. 

Yellow’s smile was gone. Dean didn’t care. 

“You’ve got my number,” Yellow said. He vanished, the room vanished, all the hunters vanished. Dean was back in the bathroom at his motel. 

“Shit. The fuck did I sign up for,” Dean said. What had Yellow meant with the last bit? Dean had his phone number? No, he fucking didn’t. Oh. There were eleven numbers in black on the back of Dean’s arm. How’d that gotten there? “Fucking creepy demon.” 

Three weeks. Dean had three fucking weeks to be free, and then he’d be married to Yellow. What did that mean? Hell? Torture? Rape? He needed a drink. There’d be a bar open somewhere before noon. 

A few hours later Dean was drunk and everything felt much better. Sober Dean hadn’t wanted to call that number on his arm, but drunk Dean thought yelling at Yellow was a great idea. The fuck did that demon think he was? The buttons on Dean’s phone were tiny, hard to press. Argh. Was that all the right numbers? Yeah. 

“ _ Hey, Dean.” _

“The fuck d’you wanna marry me for?” Dean demanded. 

_ “What does it matter to you?” _

“Well, I’m the one you’re marrying.” Dean was having a rough time keeping up with the conversation. 

“ _ Are you drunk?” _

“Course I’m drunk,” Dean said, “Yellow, we’re getting married. The fuck did I agree to that for?” He started laughing. 

_ “Yellow?” _

“It’s your fucking name,” Dean slurred, “Might as well be. Shit. Am I gonna be dead?” 

_ “Marrying me won’t kill you.” _ Yellow huffed _. “Where are you, Dean? I’m coming to get you.”  _

“You’re the one with the superpower shit. Come find me your fucking self.” 

_ “Dean. Tell me where you are, right now.” _

Dean told him the town and the name of the bar. Yellow hung up, and stormed in sometime later. 

“Dean. It’s two in the afternoon.”

“It’s two am somewhere,” Dean told him.

“Are you this upset about our engagement?” 

“That thing you did to me,” Dean said, “it’s called fucking blackmail. It makes people upset. Cuz you’re making me do what you want. It’s shitty. You’re fucking stupid, Yellow.” 

Yellow didn’t say anything. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Dean said. “Creepy demonic son of a bitch. Stupid hazel eyes. Damn you, Yellow.”

Dean found himself sitting on the chair in his motel room. Yellow joined him a minute later. 

“I wasn’t done drinking,” Dean said. 

“I think you’ve had enough,” Yellow said. 

“What do you care?” Dean said, “Don’t act like I matter to you, cuz I fucking don’t. Messing up my life’s just shits and giggles to you. You don’t care if I’m fucking drunk. You don’t care, Yellow.”

“You’re my fiancé, you moron,” Yellow said, “Of course I care.” 

“What, so we’re doing this the fake normal couple way?” Dean mocked, “Be all lovey dovey and share our feelings? You tortured me like an hour ago, you piece of shit!” He tried to punch Yellow, but Yellow caught his fist and held it still. Dean growled at him. He waited for the pain he knew was coming. Yellow would torture him into submission, and Dean would break because he was weak and a bad hunter. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Yellow said. 

Dean blinked stupidly at him. “Didn’t bother you before.” 

“Hurting you? You were a hunter who attacked me. I defended myself.”

“You fucking tortured me,” Dean said, “Nothing’s ever hurt that bad. The fuck did you do to me?” 

“I had every nerve in your body send signals to your brain claiming to be in the worst possible pain. It’s the most pain a human can experience, as any more would knock you unconscious,” Yellow said, “It’s simple and effective.” 

“All I did was try to punch you,” Dean said, “Same as just now. Why’d you have to make me feel like I was fucking dying if you coulda just caught my fist?” 

“We weren’t betrothed, Dean,” Yellow said, “There was no reason not to hurt you. As long as we’re engaged or married, I’ll never hurt you in any way you don’t want.” 

And wasn’t that a good way to distract Dean. “You’d be super hot with a whip.” Wait, why had he said that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanna give a huge thank you to everybody who commented on the first chapter, or left kudos or bookmarked, or even just read it. It makes me so happy! Although it’s advent season, so everything makes me super happy, cuz I love advent so so much! So thanks, and I hope you like this chapter! :)


	3. iii

It took a while for Dean to call Yellow again. He thought about it a lot, but since he wasn’t sure what to do about it, he buried it under a bunch of other crap he didn’t wanna think about and went hunting. Six days later he was victorious and only a little bruised and stabbed. He was feeling on top of the world, like he could tackle the whole Yellow situation and make sense out of it once and for all. 

Yellow’s phone number had washed off his arm days ago, and Dean wasn’t thinking about why he’d memorized it. Yellow was a monster, and information on him could be useful. That was all it was. He dialed and pressed call. The phone rang and rang until Dean was sure Yellow wasn’t going to pick up. He did pick up, though, on the last ring. 

There was silence. 

“Hey, Yellow?” Dean said. 

_“Hi, Dean.”_

“You wanna go somewhere and talk or something?”

_“Are you asking me on a date?”_

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean said, “Fuck.” Asking his demon fiancé out had to be one of the weirdest things Dean had ever done. 

_“What do you want to do on the date?”_

“Ideally? Classic car show,” Dean said. 

_“Classic car show?”_ Yellow sounded incredulous. _“Sure, why not.”_

“I’ll text you the time and place,” Dean said. 

_“Fine,”_ Yellow said, _“Bye, Dean.”_

“Bye,” Dean said. Yellow hung up before he could. He felt annoyed by that, like Yellow had won some mind game Dean hadn’t known they were playing. At least the car show would be awesome, even if Yellow was a dick. 

The car show was _awesome_. And Yellow was a clueless idiot. There were all these absolutely gorgeous beauties there, and Yellow referred to them as ‘it’. And he fucking shrugged when Dean asked for his opinion on a lovely, sleek, beautiful ‘69 Corvette. Shrugged! 

Dean made Yellow pick a favorite car, a ‘59 Pontiac Bonneville, and then Yellow said she was his favorite because she was a pretty shade of green. And he called her ‘it’! He was hopeless. There was no way in hell this relationship could work. Yellow didn’t care about cars. He better be fucking wowed by Baby. 

“She’s beautiful.” 

Dean wasn’t stupid. He knew Yellow was just being nice because he knew how much Baby meant to Dean, which was actually kinda sweet of him. Yellow got points for calling Baby ‘she’ too. “Suck up,” Dean accused, climbing into the driver’s seat. 

Yellow got in the passenger’s seat. “Dean, I can teleport. Why would I bother knowing about cars? They’re so slow in comparison.”

“Don’t mind him, Baby,” Dean said, stroking the steering wheel, “He’s a dumbass.”

Yellow huffed but didn’t say anything. 

They went to a diner, where Yellow ordered a fucking garden salad. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with this guy? They had burgers and pie, and he went and ordered rabbit food? How the hell was he taller than Dean eating shit like that? 

The waitress flirted with Dean, and Dean started flirting back without thinking. And then he caught Yellow’s hurt hazel eyes and quit. He had a fiancé. He’d flirt with his fiancé and see what happened. It was weird flirting with a dude, but Dean didn’t mind too much. Yellow was hot, and Dean might as well get used to being fucking engaged to a dude. 

Yellow didn’t flirt back. He stared at his water and stumbled awkwardly through replies. Dean actually had some fun with that. As long as Yellow wasn’t this fucking awkward in bed, it was kinda cute. 

Dean saw a napkin next to his plate with writing on it. That hadn’t been there a second ago. _Don’t react. Something here is stalking one of us. I think it’s after me, but I’m not sure. Get up and go to the bathroom so I can tell._

Dean didn’t wanna do it just cuz Yellow had told him to, but it did seem like a decent plan. How much did he trust this demon? Enough. Dean got up and went to the bathroom. But the bathroom was a motel room. The fuck? He went back out, but where the diner shoulda been was a bathroom. A motel bathroom. Dean was confused. Was he dreaming, or had Yellow zapped him somewhere? 

That dick better have brought Baby with him. No wait, he better not’ve touched Dean’s Baby. Dean stormed over to the window. No Baby outside. Yellow had left Baby behind with a monster who was stalking him?! Hell no. Dean went outside and checked the parking lot. Fucking moron left Baby at the diner!

Dean texted Yellow:

_u son of a bitch u left Baby at the fucking diner_

_u zapped me to a motel wut the fuck_

_zap me back rn_

_fuck u_

_u don’t zap people without asking the fuck is wrong with u_

_bring me back rn I didn’t even get my fucking pie_

_Baby better be fine, yellow, or ur dead I’m serious_

Yellow appeared next to Dean. “It was after you, not me,” he said, “and I think it’s a witch.”

“Where’s Baby?” Dean demanded. 

“The diner parking lot,” Yellow said, “I can teleport her here.”

“No!” Dean yelped, “No zapping my Baby. You might hurt her.”

“I know how to teleport a car, Dean,” Yellow said. 

“You zap me back to that diner and I’ll drive Baby here,” Dean said. No demon was touching his Baby, not even Yellow. 

Yellow sighed exasperatedly. “Fine. I scared the witch off, so it should be safe enough.”

Dean squinted at him. “Are you trying to protect me?” The idea was so fucking weird. 

“You’re my betrothed.” Yellow was so fucking earnest. “Dean, protecting you is in the job description.”

Dean didn’t like talking about shit like that. “Just take me to Baby already.”


	4. iv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mild touching where consent is neither asked for nor given. And saying no would be hard to do. Still, it is distinctly dub-con, not non-con.

_ Goodnight, Dean : ) _

Dean stared at the text. Was Yellow serious about this mushy couples crap? Really? The dude was a demon, Dean ought to be able to escape feelings gunk with him. Did he text back? He wasn’t fucking going to sleep anytime soon, it wasn’t even midnight. 

_ ur going to bed srsly _

It was a moment before Yellow replied. Dean didn’t stare impatiently at the phone while he waited. 

_ I like to get up before dawn and go for a run.  _

That had Dean staring at the phone in horror. He was marrying a crazy person. Who the fuck would do that to themselves? 

_ u r fucking nuts y would u do that to ur self  _

_ Because it’s fun, Dean, and I like it. You should join me sometime. It’s really beautiful.  _

_ i don’t get up before ten unless there’s monsters yellow  _

_ Well, I’m going to bed, so I can get up at a reasonable time.  _

_ g’night _

Dean was not smiling at his phone. Yellow was a creepy, yellow eyed idiot, and Dean didn’t like him. Which didn’t explain why he texted Yellow the next morning. 

_ morning _

_ Hey, Dean _

Dean wasn’t just texting Yellow to say good morning. That’d be cheesy as shit. No, he had some grand plans and shit. 

_ u wanna grab coffee _

This was just getting cheesier and mushier over time. Ugh. Dean needed a hunt. 

_ Sorry, I can’t. Hell stuff. Maybe tomorrow? _

_ sure _

Dean definitely needed a hunt. There were demon signs everywhere, but Dean wasn’t taking down a demon. He wanted to not think about demons, clear his head a bit. He found some funny deaths that didn’t look particularly demony and headed there. Luckily, they were close, so he could get a start on fucking research that afternoon. Research. Argh. 

_ hey yellow whatcha up to _

Yellow didn’t text back, and after a moment Dean sighed and went back to his research. He was bored. So fucking bored. He cracked his knuckles and made fart noises. Case. Focus on the case. 

Dean didn’t know what it was. The research part was always the hardest. The long, boringly torturous, drags on forever, stupid research part. Random dude pooped out small change and died of internal bleeding or some shit. Other random dude got his eyes stabbed longer ago. Third random dude had a bloody throat and maybe had a heart attack or something. 

_ I’m stuck in the library _

Yellow didn’t reply to that either. 

_ I’m so bored i wanna die _

_ say something _

_ fuck u Yellow _

_ books are stupid _

Still no answer. How hard was it to pick up the phone? 

_ the librarians hot _

_ We’re engaged, Dean _

Oh, so that got a fucking answer. Dean could die of boredom and Yellow would just shrug it off, but one hint Dean might cheat on him and he’d get a reply. 

_ i might get her help with research _

_ What are you researching? I’m sure I can help you. _

Dean sniggered. 

_ ur such a jealous bitch _

_ And you’re a jerk, Dean.  _

_ ur still helping me yellow i have no idea what I’m looking at _

_ Where are you? I’ll be there in 7-9 minutes.  _

_ oddly specific _

Dean sent Yellow his location and tried to spend Yellow’s 7-9 minutes productively. Dead guys, crime scene photos, boring, some shit newspaper article about how heart attacks could cause throat damage or something. 

_ when r u coming _

_ It’s only been four minutes, Dean _

Dean scowled at the clock. He realized he’d called in a demon to help him with hunting research. He should probably worry about that, but he shoved the thoughts away. It was fine. It was just Yellow. If he didn’t wanna help Dean with the hunt Dean would just threaten to cheat on him again. 

Yellow walked into the library like a normal person, for once, instead of popping up creepily right next to Dean. “Hey, Dean.” His thin lips formed a smile. His silky hair was messy and tangled and sexy as fuck. 

“Yellow.”

“You had some research questions?”

Dean showed Yellow the case and explained what he needed to find out. Yellow ended up sitting right next to Dean so their shoulders were brushing as he researched. Dean woulda helped, but Yellow was obviously into this shit and Dean really wasn’t. Dean wondered if Yellow would get pissed if Dean messed with his hair. No harm in trying. 

Yellow’s hair was soft, softer than any girl’s hair Dean had touched. Dean untangled the silken strands. It’d be easier with a comb, but he didn’t have one and using his fingers was more fun. Yellow acted oblivious and stayed focused on his papers, but he scooted closer to Dean and leaned into his hands. He was so fucking beautiful it was annoying. Dean tugged at his hair, and Yellow made a muted noise like a whimper. Oo. Dean tugged again. Yellow shifted in his seat. 

“Let me concentrate.”

“You like having your hair pulled,” Dean said, yanking at Yellow’s hair, “Don’t you, Yellow?”

_ “Dean,”  _ Yellow whined, “do you want my help with this research or not?”

Ugh, the research. “You find anything out?”

“So get this, it’s definitely a witch,” Yellow said, “It was challenging, since I’m used to calculating possible effects from their causes, not backtracking from the effects to determine what could’ve caused them, but I found the witch. It’s-” He picked up a newspaper article from the papers he’d compiled, and his face paled as he looked at it. 

“What?” Dean asked, “Yellow.” 

Yellow tore the article out of the paper, crumpled it and stuck it in his pocket. “I didn’t really find anything,” he said, “This kind of research isn’t really my thing, but I’d guess it was probably a messed up human. A weird serial killer. Nothing for a hunter to worry about.” 

“The fuck are you on about?” Dean said, “Gimme that paper.” 

“No,” Yellow said. 

Dean scowled. He didn’t know what was up to make Yellow lie to him about the case, but it was not cool. He snatched at Yellow’s pocket, grabbing for the paper. Yellow blocked him and retreated to the other side of the table. 

“I said no!” Yellow was angry. 

Dean didn’t care. He was angry too. “You can’t just fucking spew lies everywhere with no explanation! Yellow, gimme the paper. The fuck is on there?” 

“It’s none of your business,” Yellow said. 

Dean tackled him. 

He mighta forgotten that Yellow was a powerful demon king and Dean was a human. That mighta been a kinda important thing to keep in mind. Dean found himself pinned to the wall, with Yellow’s hand on his neck. Dean could only sort of breathe. Yellow glared at Dean, eyes turning yellow. His fingers grew claws that pushed painfully into Dean’s neck but didn’t break the skin. 

“Yellow,” Dean whispered. It was hard, he was barely audible and trying to whisper made the pain from Yellow’s hand so much worse. “Please.”

Dean’s breaths were weak and painful. He wasn’t sure they were deep enough to give him any air to breathe. Yellow’s hand was hot and powerful, dominating. His angry, yellow eyes burned into Dean. Claws pinched his skin. There wasn’t enough air. Dean’s cock stiffened. 

“You are a pathetic human. I could kill you in an instant, with just a thought. You can’t make me do anything, Dean. Don’t try.” Yellow’s low, deep voice turned something in Dean to jelly. His jeans didn’t hide how his cock was quickly filling up. His throat hurt. 

Yellow’s hand came up, cupping Dean’s cock through his jeans. “Really?”

Dean couldn’t help that sometimes he got hard at weird times. It was nothing to do with the pressure of Yellow’s hand, his dominance, his anger, his burning, scary yellow eyes. Nothing to do with his low voice almost a growl, his thin lips pressed into a line, how little effort it took him to pin Dean totally at his mercy. 

Yellow palmed Dean’s cock. Dean writhed. He’d have moaned or screamed or whimpered, but all he could make was a weak gasping noise. Yellow eyes stared into his own, and even just that felt dominating. Dean was dizzy and helpless, scared and intimidated and so, so hard. He had no idea if he wanted to demand Yellow stop or beg for more, but he couldn’t do either. 

The force from Yellow’s hand eased, and the claws stopped digging into Dean’s neck. Yellow’s hand was just cupping Dean’s neck, a warm pressure that shouldn’t’ve been soothing. Dean was able to breathe better. He missed Yellow’s hand on his painfully erect cock, though. 


	5. v

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: brief thoughts of cheating.

“Uh…” Dean’s damaged throat made his voice a quiet rasp.

Yellow’s arms were warm around him. It felt nice, and Dean would’ve fallen if Yellow hadn’t been holding him up. Yellow was strong, and Dean was weak, dizzy and lost. He needed to get back in control of the situation ASAP. But he couldn’t.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean whisper rasped. His throat felt like it was dying. 

“I’m sorry,” Yellow said, “I said I wouldn’t hurt you, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

“You fucking better be,” Dean grumbled. Being angry made him feel better. “The fuck was that?”

“I’m sorry,” Yellow repeated. His eyes were hazel again. 

“You can keep saying that, but it’s not gonna change a fucking thing,” Dean said. 

“OK, I’ll quit apologizing,” Yellow said, irritated, “But you have to tell me how to make it up to you.”

“Just forget it, it’s fine,” Dean grumbled, “Go away. I need some fucking space.” He needed to get his life back together. He’d gotten hard from being choked and yelled at. This was not cool. 

Yellow left, at least. And Dean was fucking disappointed about that, cuz he’s an idiot. Worst hunter ever. He spent the rest of the day beating himself up and didn’t make any progress on the case. 

At 11:30 Dean thought about how Yellow’d sent him a fucking goodnight text the day before. Should he maybe send one? Yellow went to sleep about now. It could be a sort of peace offering. Without having to talk about stuff. 

_ gnight yellow _

Yellow texted him back almost immediately. 

_ Goodnight, Dean : ) _

What kinda mushy sap sent smiley faces? How the fuck was somebody like Yellow king of hell? 

Dean got up at noon the next day. Yellow had sent him a good morning text at fucking five am, and he said good morning back even though it’d been hours and hours. He worked the case a little, interviewing a handful of people and checking out the crime scenes. Yellow’s original stance that it was a witch was backed up by the hex bags Dean found. And Yellow knew who the witch was too, the fucker. What was the big secret, anyway? Dean wanted to ask, but he didn’t. 

He went to the bar that evening to see if he could hear anything about a potential witch. Bars weren’t a bad source of information, and they were a hell of a lot more fun than pretending to be fucking law enforcement and interviewing people properly. It was hard to remember not to flirt. Dean was no cheater, but he almost never had a relationship serious enough for cheating to be a possibility. 

He was talking to a hot blonde, and she was leaning forward so her low cut shirt showed the top of her boobs. Dean was just flirting cuz he’d get more information that way. Yellow hadn’t even kissed him yet, so would it really be cheating? She was hot. They hadn’t talked about being exclusive. It’d be a one time thing, a woman he’d never see again. 

Yellow would be massively fucking jealous and hurt. He’d either shove Dean against the wall in a rage, and maybe do more while he was at it, or he’d just slump and look at Dean like a kicked puppy. Dean would find another way to piss him off. 

The woman tried to kiss him, and he pushed her away. She’d only been able to tell him that every woman in town and their husbands had a motive to kill the guy who got his eyes stabbed. He’d gotten thrown out of the women’s dressing room at every clothing store several times, and a bunch of women had complained about him looking in their windows and sexually harassing them. 

Dean left the bar, no closer to solving the case, pissed and horny. Why was he not cheating on Yellow? Fucker pushed him up against a wall and glared at him with those yellow eyes and dug claws into his throat. That wasn’t helping Dean with the horniness problem. Call Yellow and experiment with gay sex, or jerk off? Dean did not feel up to dealing with Yellow. Jerking off it was. 

Lying on his bed in his motel room, Dean palmed himself through his jeans. He wasn’t sure how to fantasize about a dude. He’d take Yellow’s shirt off. No boobs, but Yellow’d have nipples. Dean would figure it out. Yellow’d moan, in that low, rough voice of his. He’d push Dean down onto the mattress with his hand on Dean’s neck. 

No, that was weird. They’d have normal sex. Their pants would be gone, and Yellow would suck his cock. A hot, warm mouth around his cock. He’d thrust in, hold Yellow’s head still with that long hair of his and fuck his mouth. 

Dean pushed his pants and boxers down and stroked his cock, picturing Yellow’s thin, dark pink lips wrapped around him. But it wasn’t quite right. Maybe Yellow would pull away when Dean got close. Dean would try to reach for himself, desperate to cum, but Yellow would laugh cruelly. He’d pin Dean to the bed, desperate and at his mercy. He’d loom over Dean, eyes that intimidating yellow color. 

Dean would argue, yell at him to quit being a fucking tease, and Yellow would grab Dean by the neck and press down to make him shut up. It’d hurt, but Dean would just get harder. Yellow’s nails would dig into his throat. His free hand would trail down Dean’s chest, clawed. Not cutting him, but stinging. A threat. Dean would be so, so helpless. Yellow’s bitch. 

Dean came hard all over himself. His eyes rolled back, and his body was limp and loose. His hand fell away from his throat, where he’d gotten off on choking himself. He was panting, sweaty, and that’d been a much better orgasm than he’d expected. The fuck was wrong with him? That shit he’d thought about should not have gotten him off. 


	6. vi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note the updated tags. We’ve got referenced rape, abuse, torture, underage. Basically there’s a shit ton of crap but it’s all only referenced.

In the morning, Dean knew two things. He was gonna act like the whole getting hard from being choked and intimidated thing had never happened and never think about it again, and he needed to get some fucking answers from Yellow about what was on that paper. He wasn’t just gonna drop it cuz Yellow got mad and freaked him out. 

He found Yellow’s good morning text. 

_ Morning, Dean! It rained here. I wish you were up to see the sunrise.  _

It was from fucking four-thirty in the morning, of course. Why was Dean surprised? 

_ i wanna talk to u _

He sent Yellow his address and waited for him to show up. And then Yellow kept him waiting for a fucking hour. 

_ Ok c u in 5 _

That was not how Yellow’s texts were supposed to look. They were supposed to be all prissy and neat, with punctuation and grammar and all that useless shit. And the hour long wait? Not normal. Dean wasn’t sure whether to be pissed at him or worried. 

Yellow popped up in front of him. No knock at the door or anything, he just appeared there with bloodshot eyes and blood matted in his hair. 

“The hell happened to you?” Dean asked. 

“Nothing much,” Yellow said. 

Dean waited for more. He wasn’t taking this ‘nothing much’ shit from the bloody guy who’d obviously been fucking crying. 

“I was meeting with the lead torturer,” Yellow said after a moment, “We were discussing the age appropriateness of certain methods in torture.”

Dean wasn’t getting it. “What?” 

“He took this project for my father a while ago, and ever since he’s been-” Yellow cut himself off and looked away. 

“I’m not getting what you’re saying, Yellow, you’re gonna hafta just spit it out,” Dean said. 

“Alistair’s been raping the youngest souls he tortures,” Yellow said, “It’s not kids, we almost never get kids in hell, but he’s been taking the teens, and-” he did the hand gesture for fucking and dropped his head. 

“And you’re really fucking upset about that,” Dean said. He left the ‘why?’ unsaid. 

“I started it,” Yellow said, sitting down on the bed, “He hadn’t thought to use sex, and then I came along and he got a taste for it. It’s all my fault.” 

“So you told him to rape teens?” Dean asked. 

“What? No!” Yellow looked utterly horrified. “I just introduced him to sex.”

“Oh, so he’s your ex,” Dean said, “But why would it be your fault he’s going after minors? That’s on him.”

“No, cuz we were together from when I was fourteen to about sixteen.”

“You- fucking hell! You fucked a grown demon at  _ fourteen _ !?”

Yellow shrunk in on himself. “He was all I had.” 

“All you had? Did you get fucking Stockholm or something?” Dean demanded. 

“I don’t know. Probably.” Scared hazel eyes fixated on the wall. 

Scaring Yellow was a shit thing to do in this situation, so Dean sat down next to him and calmed himself down. “What happened exactly, Yellow?”

“My father wanted me to learn torture,” he said, “How to keep quiet while it happened to me, how to torture something out of someone else. He gave me to Alistair for three years. I sort of agreed to the torture, I guess? There wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I didn’t resist or anything. And Alistair really liked torturing me. He focused on me, and kept me locked up so he was the only person I ever saw. I was a scared kid. I had to get attached to someone.”

“That is some fucked up shit, dude,” Dean said. 

“I’ve never been entirely sure if it was consensual or not,” Yellow said, “I kissed him, I started it. All he’d done was torture me for months, and I just wanted anything but pain. After that he’d fuck me, or he’d torture me, or he’d leave me alone screaming in the dark. But it was always separate, with me, the sex and the pain. With the kids, lately, it hasn’t been.”

“How’d you get out of there?”

“My father decided I’d been tortured long enough,” Yellow said. He didn’t seem to get how awful that sentence was. “He had me brought back to court, and Alistair and I just ended. No resolution, no breakup, he just wasn’t interested in anyone he couldn’t control and torture all the time.”

“What a sicko,” Dean said, “Can’t you kill him?”

Yellow shook his head. “My power isn’t consolidated yet. I make one wrong move and Lilith will lead a military coup and have me killed or tortured and enslaved.”

“So you’re just gonna have hour long meetings with the fucker who raped you and is now raping a bunch of kids? Seriously, Yellow?” Dean was not impressed. 

“He didn’t rape me,” Yellow said, “Well. He did, but it was statutory rape, and that hardly counts. I consented. It was just an abusive nightmarish relationship, it wasn’t rape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How does consent work in a case of underage with clear verbal consent between a torturer and his mentally destroyed victim? I’m really not sure.


	7. vii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t like this chapter. Editing it took forever and I still don’t like it. I hope it’s not awful. Trying to have a plot is just making my life so hard...

The next day Dean met Yellow for lunch, and they ended up walking in a park. Dean didn’t get the whole walking for the heck of it thing, but Yellow wanted to and it wasn’t like it was bad. It was sunny and the mood was nice and relaxed. The backs of their hands brushed together, something Dean was too fucking aware of. 

Yellow had to be doing it on purpose. The path was plenty wide enough, they were just both right by the middle of it. Dean tangled their fingers together. It was an odd feeling, holding Yellow’s hand. Dean had never done much hand holding, and it’d all been with girls whose hands were littler than his. Yellow’s hand was fucking huge, enveloping Dean’s. It wasn’t bad. 

“Am I forcing you?”

“To hold hands?” Dean snorted. 

“To marry me,” Yellow said, “Am I forcing you?”

“No,” Dean said, not really thinking about it. 

“Oh.” Yellow was smiling. That dumb, cute smile with dimples. He was fucking adorable. 

“How long is there til the whole wedding thingy, anyways?” Dean asked. 

“It was gonna be eight more days,” Yellow said, “but we could have it whenever. Four days, on Saturday?”

“Sure,” Dean said, “Why not.” The hair on the back of his neck prickled just as Yellow stiffened. 

“Someone’s here,” Yellow said. 

“Yeah, there’s shit tons of people in this park,” Dean said. 

“It’s using magic to block itself from me,” Yellow said, “It’s the same as at that diner. It’s spying on us.” 

“Act normal,” Dean said, “You know where it is?” 

Yellow huffed in irritation. “No.” 

“That other time at the diner you said it was a freaking witch,” Dean said, “I’m here hunting a witch.”

Yellow looked away. 

“It’s the same witch, isn’t it.”

“It wouldn’t have to be,” Yellow said, “There are tons of witches.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Yellow, will you just tell me who the hell the witch is and what the big fuss is about?”

“I’m being summoned,” Yellow said, “I should go there.”

“I’m tagging along,” Dean said. If Yellow was just tryna sneak off and avoid telling him anything then Dean wasn’t gonna fall for it. 

“OK, I guess,” Yellow said, “It is a good idea to stick together with the whole stalker witch thing. I wouldn’t wanna leave you alone.”

“Dude, I can handle a freaking witch,” Dean said, “Unless you’re protecting her from me, in which case fuck you.”

“This’ll feel weird,” Yellow said. 

Weird was a good word for this shit. Dean felt like Yellow was yanking him through a wall of jello. A bunch of brightly colored spots danced in front of Dean’s eyes. He knocked into Yellow, who steadied him. Dean’s vision was a bit blurry for a moment, but he mostly felt pretty ok. 

“Jess? You summoned me!” Yellow didn’t look happy. He was glaring at a blond woman who looked familiar. Dean had seen her somewhere before, he was sure. 

“You never brought me along on a summoning,” the woman objected. Damn, she sounded whiny as hell. 

Yellow rolled his eyes. “Nobody summoned me back then. So why are you summoning me now?” 

“You're that woman from the bar,” Dean blurted, “You tried to kiss me.”

“You tried to kiss my fiancé?!” Yellow’s eyes turned yellow. “Why are you always trying to sabotage my relationships, Jess? What is your problem!” 

“You don’t wanna marry him,” Jess told Dean. “He’s distant and controlling. He dumped me a week after we said our ‘I love you’s for the first time. He’s cold as ice, and he’s got anger issues.” 

“Well, that’s not true,” Dean said, “Yellow’s secretive as shit, but he’s pretty fucking warm.”

“Yellow?” Jess said, “What are you calling him Yellow for, his name’s S-” Yellow flicked his finger, and her mouth snapped shut.

“You  _ do not  _ say my name, Jess. Ever.” 

It took Dean a moment to remember Yellow wasn’t Yellow’s actual name, just a nickname Dean had got to stick. Dean should ask him his actual name sometime, cuz it could be important if he was fussing like this about it. 

Jess made muffled noises of protest and shook her fist at Yellow. 

“Don’t summon me again, Jess,” Yellow said, “If you ever bother me or my fiancé again, I’ll set Praxidike on you. Clear?” He turned to Dean without waiting for a response. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Dean’s brain was working slowly because Yellow’s eyes were super fucking hot and dominant and shit. He just nodded. A split second later they were back at Dean’s motel room. Yellow’s eyes were so fucking yellow. 

“So, who’s Pardikestike?” Dean asked, sitting down casually on the bed. He wasn’t staring at Yellow’s eyes or any shit like that. 

“Praxidike,” Yellow said. He was looming over Dean. Dean shouldn’t’ve sat down, it gave Yellow all the power. 

Yellow laid his hand on Dean’s knee. He had claws, not fingernails, and Dean could feel them through his jeans. His eyes were burning, that bright, dark yellow. Dean’s mouth was dry. 

“She’s my hellhound,” Yellow continued. His tone was intimate, sensual. “She kills people who’ve made deals or who I don’t like, viciously tears them to shreds with her claws.” Yellow’s claws dug painfully into Dean’s knee, and Dean’s cock twitched. “And she drags them down to the agony and torture of hell to suffer for eternity.” 

Dean shuddered. He shifted his legs, opening them for Yellow. Yellow’s hand trailed upward and inward, and his claws dug into the softer flesh of Dean’s inner thigh. Dean’s breath hitched. Yellow’s claws were fucking sharp, and Dean hadn’t known pain could be so seductive. 

Dean’s cock was hardening real fucking quickly. A sharper dig from those claws, and the pain had Dean’s ass clenching. Yellow was leaning down, those bright yellow eyes so close to him. Would Yellow kiss him? Dean wanted Yellow to fucking ravish his mouth with those thin lips. 

Yellow smirked. “I’ll see you in the morning, Dean.” And the fucker just up and vanished. 


	8. viii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had plot that was supposed to happen, but oh well. You get this instead.

A touch to his shoulder jolted Dean awake. An instant later he was pointing his gun at whoever had disturbed him, safety off and finger on the trigger. Hazel eyes. Oh, it was just Yellow. Dean flipped the safety back on and rolled over to go back to sleep. 

Yellow shook his shoulder. Dean ignored him.

“Dean,” Yellow hissed, “You promised you’d wake up.”

What now? Dean wasn’t that dumb, he wouldn’t have fucking promised- he groaned as the memory came back. Yellow had used his fucking kicked puppy eyes, and Dean had agreed to whatever he wanted, even getting up at ass o’clock in the morning and going for a run. 

“C’mon, Dean,” Yellow said, “It’s time to go.”

Dean growled at him. Puppy eyes were fucking cheating. Dean would never’ve agreed to this if Yellow’d fought fair. “Coffee,” he grumbled, knowing he’d lost. 

Yellow’s smile was way too bright for how early it was. He handed Dean a cup of coffee, and Dean drank it as quick as he could, ignoring his burning tongue. The cup was empty. Dean hadn’t had enough caffeine to really talk yet, so he just grunted, “coffee,” again. 

Yellow vanished for an instant and was back with more coffee. But he held it out of reach. “You gotta get out of bed, Dean.”

Dean scowled at Yellow’s stupid face. “Fuck you.”

“Maybe later.”

Dean took a moment to figure out what he’d said. He stumbled out of bed and grabbed his coffee. Four cups later he was feeling more like a person, and Yellow was fucking laughing at him. 

“The fuck is funny?” Dean asked. 

“You have a problem,” Yellow said, “That is so much caffeine. That is not good for you, Dean.” 

“Getting up at fucking five in the morning is not good for me,” Dean said. 

“Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise,” Yellow said. 

“That’s dumb,” Dean said. 

“It wouldn’t be such a famous quote if there wasn’t some truth to it,” Yellow teased. 

“Fuck you.” Arguing was hard in the morning. 

Yellow laughed. Asshole. Nobody should be that cheerful when the sun wasn’t even up yet. But Yellow was fucking glowing, like dragging Dean up so early it was nighttime to go for a dumb run was the best thing in the world. And Dean would let him do it every fucking morning if it'd make him smile like that again. Dean was so screwed. 

Running? More like pointless torture. Dean could sprint like hell with a monster after him, did it all the time, but that was short and panic fueled. Yellow was running at a steady pace for fucking ages, and it was murder. Dean was gonna die. But he couldn’t complain or slow down, cuz he was no wimp. If Yellow could do it, then Dean sure as hell could too. 

“How * _ pant*  _ long have we * _ pant* _ been doing this?” So maybe Dean was whining a bit. 

“Maybe twenty minutes?” Yellow said, “The sun hasn’t come up yet, so not long.”

Twenty minutes. Fuck. “And how * _ pant* _ long do you * _ pant*  _ usually * _ pant*  _ run for?”

“An hour or an hour and a half,” Yellow said. 

Dean groaned in misery. 

“Can’t keep up?” Yellow challenged. 

“I can  _ *pant*  _ fucking  _ *pant*  _ beat your  _ *pant*  _ slow ass any  _ *pant* _ day,” Dean said. 

Fucking Yellow had the gall to laugh at him. And the breath. How was breathing and running so fucking easy for him? It must be those long, muscular legs. Dean had never seen Yellow’s legs before, but now he was wearing jogging shorts and his legs went on for fucking miles. 

“Sure you can, Dean,” Yellow teased. 

Dean scowled at him. “Don’t fucking  _ *pant* _ patronize  _ *pant*  _ me.” If he could breathe he’d sound so much more intimidating. 

Dean made it another half hour before his legs turned to jelly and he had to sit down. He flopped gracelessly to the sidewalk. 

“You ok, Dean?” Big, worried hazel eyes. Where did Yellow get off being so cute? 

“I’m fine,” Dean grumped, “I’m just tired from being fucking dragged out of bed at four in the fucking morning.” His head ached something fierce, and he was soaked in sweat. He’d been too hot running, but once he’d sat down his skin had started fucking  _ burning _ . Shouldn’t sitting down make it less bad, not worse? 

Yellow sat down next to him. He was sweat soaked too, but he looked rosy and glowing with health where Dean looked like a drowned rat. 

“I’m never running with you again,” Dean said. 

“We’ll see,” Yellow said. 

Dean glared at him. There was no way. No amount of puppy eyes could make him put himself through this again.

“Look at the clouds.” Yellow’s voice was full of awe, and his eyes sparkled. 

Dean glanced up at the sky. The sun had risen high enough that it didn’t hurt to look up, but the clouds were still orangey red and purple. It was nothing special. Yellow’s skin, flushed from running and bathed in warm sunshine? Now that was worth looking at. 


	9. ix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Sam’s reasoning makes sense.

When Yellow’d called it a park Dean had imagined streetlights and a field with grass and flowers and shit like that. This was a fucking forest. It was dark as hell, and he was walking into trees and branches and the fucking path was basically nothing. He would’ve brought a fucking flashlight if he’d realized Yellow wanted to meet in the fucking middle of the woods. 

“Yellow!” Dean called, “Where the fuck are you?” 

“Two feet in front of you, sitting on a bench,” Yellow said. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelped. He had not seen Yellow sitting there. It was way too fucking dark.

“Hi, Dean,” Yellow said. 

“The fuck did you wanna meet in the middle of the fucking forest for?” Dean asked. 

“It’s private, the foliage is lovely, there are some really intricate cave systems near here,” Yellow said, “but you don’t care about that. I’d forgotten you were completely human and had no night vision.” 

“Of course I’m completely human,” Dean said, “The fuck else would I be.” 

“I dunno,” Yellow said, “Something less completely powerless.”

“I am not powerless,” Dean said, “You’re powerless.” 

“Then break this hold.” 

Dean found he couldn’t move. Like, at all. Yellow’s eyes had lit up yellow, and Dean’s breathing sped up as Yellow looked him over like a predator looks at prey. Dean’s pants felt suddenly tight. Fucking hell. Yellow couldn’t just fucking keep Dean stuck like that. How the fuck was he doing it? Dean had never run into a demon who’d just freeze him like that. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move his face, he couldn’t even blink. It sucked. 

“Sit.” 

Dean’s legs moved jerkily, taking him to the bench next to Yellow and sitting him down. 

“You’re so utterly helpless, Dean,” Yellow purred, “All you hunters are. Tiny, insignificant humans fighting a hopeless war against people like me, people who could kill you by willing your heart to stop. Why do you bother?” 

Dean wanted to growl and spit curses at Yellow. It was so frustrating to not be able to do anything. Why the fuck had Yellow bothered making that deal with the hunters in the first place if he could just fucking freeze people? There was nothing Dean could do to even put up token resistance. How was he supposed to handle this shit? He couldn’t. 

“There you go, Dean,” Yellow said. His clawed hand caressed Dean’s face. It was creepy and scary but there was no pain. “Stop fighting me. Just like that.”

Yellow had known Dean was fighting against whatever mind magic he was using to keep him in place? Dean tried to punch him. It didn’t work, of course, but it made him feel better. He tried to punch Yellow a couple more times and then tried to move just his middle finger. 

Yellow sighed. “Very mature, Dean.”

Dean’s throat was working so hard to cuss Yellow out. The fuck was wrong with him? Not being able to yell was just making Dean go crazy. He needed an outlet. 

Yellow traced the outline of Dean’s lips with his claw. It caught for a moment on his Cupid’s bow, pinching. Dean’s mouth went dry. Why did Dean’s cock have to be the one part of him that could react? It reacted embarrassingly to Yellow’s sharp claws, his burning yellow eyes, all the power he had that Dean was so completely helpless against. 

“You’re so beautiful.” Yellow’s claw pricked Dean’s lip, and he tasted blood. “So vulnerable.” Yellow’s eyes dropped lower, and he smirked at Dean’s crotch. “So easily aroused.”

Punching Yellow still seemed like a great idea, but Dean was kinda not entirely against where this was going. His dick was certainly with the program. Yellow straddled him, fucking sitting on his lap and wrapping his long legs around Dean’s waist. His hard dick pushed against Dean’s stomach. His yellow eyes burned into Dean’s from inches away. It was hot as hell. Dean’s cock was so hard it hurt, and Yellow was fucking sitting on him. 

Dean kissed him. 

Dean’s kiss was almost an attack. Harsh, rough and desperate. He smashed his lips into Yellow’s and bit at his lower lip. Yellow kissed back in a slow, dominant, overwhelming way. Dean lost control of the kiss, his cock hardening farther as he submitted to Yellow. He’d only rarely had somebody else control a kiss, and it made it so much more arousing. 

Yellow pulled away. He pushed himself off Dean’s lap and sat next to him. They were both breathless and achingly hard. Dean didn’t want to stop, but a bench in the fucking forrest at night wasn’t the best spot for this kinda thing. They could make it work, but Yellow was special. He wasn’t just some random fuck, and Dean didn’t wanna do it with him here. Yellow seemed to feel the same way. 

“What was with the mind control shit?” Dean asked. He tried to sound mad, but he couldn’t. 

“I didn’t let you go, Dean,” Yellow said, “You broke yourself out of it.”

“I did?” Dean asked. 

“To break a demonic power’s control over your mind, you have to go with it,” Yellow said, “Give in for a moment, voluntarily do something the person controlling you wants. And then you’re free.”

“And just fucking telling me that wasn’t good enough why?” Dean asked, annoyed. If this was some lesson why couldn’t Yellow have just told him. 

“It’ll stick in your head now, Dean,” Yellow said. 

Dean couldn’t argue with that. “Bitch,” he grumbled. 

“I just want to keep you safe,” Yellow said. 

Dean kissed him, soft and reassuring. It would’ve been a short kiss, but Yellow’s hands caught the back of Dean’s neck and held him in place for Yellow to ravish his mouth. It was possessive, protective, devouring, and that made Dean fucking melt. He hadn’t realized how amazing it could feel to be taken over. Yellow broke the kiss but stayed in Dean’s space. His eyes softened and turned hazel. 

“I know how to hunt,” Dean said softly, “I’ll be reasonably safe.”

“No, you won’t,” Yellow said miserably, “Let me give you a gift.”

“Sure,” Dean said, not following. 

Yellow pulled a leather cord out of his pocket. It was too dark for Dean to see the design, but there was a charm of some sort on it. “It’s a protective amulet,” Yellow said, “Wear it. Please.”

“Alright.” Dean slipped the cord over his head. The amulet was a heavy pressure on his chest. 

Yellow relaxed. 

“This means a lot to you,” Dean said. 

Yellow’s pretty hazel eyes were scary fucking vulnerable. “Yeah.”

“I won’t take it off,” Dean said. 

Yellow looked so happy, and then he was kissing Dean, wild and passionate and messy. Dean gave as good as he got that time. Yellow’s hair was long and silky soft against Dean’s fingers. He moaned into the kiss when Dean pulled on it. Open mouthed, wet and messy kisses. Dean had a mix of their saliva dripping down his chin and somehow on his nose, but he didn’t give two shits, cuz this was fucking perfect. 


	10. x

_ hey yellow mornin _

Dean set his phone down and put his clothes on. The amulet Yellow had given him was still around his neck. He looked at it in the fuzzy motel bathroom mirror. A stylized face with horns. It wasn’t like any protective amulet he’d seen, but he liked it. 

His phone pinged. 

_ What are you up to today? _

_ hunting the damn witch gotta do my job _

_ Oh.  _

Dean waited for the rest of Yellow’s response. Did he still care about his asshole ex? Cuz that’d be a real big fucking problem. 

_ Good luck, Dean. Text me when you’re finished so I know you’re ok? _

_ will do _

That had Dean wondering if Yellow’s opinion shift was real. 

_ coupla days ago u were ready to fight for that fucking paper and now ur all gung ho go kill jess? _

_ A couple of days ago I had myself deluded into thinking a part of me still cared about her. She’s been constantly watching us, she summoned me, said those things. I’m done with jess. You have a right as a predator to kill her, and I’m not going to stop you.  _

_ right as predator srsly _

_ Natural order, Dean. _

_ wut was on paper anyway _

_ A picture of janey murray, the witch I’d identified as having a connection to all the murders. I should’ve realized it was jess when the initials matched.  _

Yellow was usually so anal about fucking grammar and which words needed to be fucking capitalized. Why was Jess not capitalized? It was a little thing, but it didn’t fit with how Yellow texted so it stood out to Dean. He wasn’t sure how to ask why Yellow’d done that, so he dropped the subject. 

The research bit of the hunt was a hell of a lot easier when all he had to do was find Janey Murray’s house. Or apartment, as it turned out. It was full of weird voodooey crap and dead bunny rabbits and shit. What was it about witches that made them so damn disgusting? 

With all the witch stuff around, Dean was surprised when Jess came into the room with a normal gun. Like, why use a gun when she had magic? He tried to talk her down, miscalculated, she shot at him and he threw himself to the side. He felt the bullet hit him, but it took a moment for the pain to sink in, and he used that moment to shoot her. Jess slumped to the floor with a hole in her head. 

Dean waited for his shoulder to start hurting. The pain just wouldn’t fucking kick in already. He looked down at himself, and there wasn’t any blood. Huh? He checked his shirt for holes or blood or any shit like that, but it was all fine. That was really fucking weird. Maybe. Maybe the amulet. It could’ve swung out far enough when he’d moved to catch the bullet. It seemed undamaged, but that’d make sense since it was magical. It was the only thing that could’ve stopped the bullet from going into his shoulder. Wow. Close one. Unnerved, Dean got out of Jess’ apartment ASAP. 

He drove Baby a state away and started looking for another case. He didn’t find one for a couple hours, so he looked up what he could on the amulet Yellow’d given him. A brass bull’s head that didn’t fit into any religion, culture or design he could find. Whatever it was, it had maybe, probably, definitely saved his life. How had Yellow known? He’d suddenly gotten so worried the night before, given Dean the amulet like Dean would die if he didn’t have it, and then Dean probably woulda gotten at least badly hurt, maybe killed, if it hadn’t been for that amulet. 

_ hey yellow _

Dean waited, but Yellow didn’t text back. He was probably busy with whatever he had to do as king of hell. Dean would have to learn about that. They were getting married in two fucking days, and Dean only had the vaguest idea of what Yellow did. He texted Yellow goodnight later, but there was still no response. Still nothing when Dean himself fell asleep at 1:30 am. 


	11. xi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er, warning? It’s just blinding and talking about cross dressing. Idk if those need warnings.

_ Good morning, Dean. Do you want to come over when you wake up? _

That was new. Yellow’d never asked Dean over to his place before. 

_ hey yellow morning and sure were r u _

_ I’m at court.  _

The next text was a fucking address. Yellow wanted Dean to come see him be the king of hell. At a fucking court like a real king. That was a whole part of Yellow’s life that Dean hadn’t gotten to be part of before. He needed to check this shit out to get to know his fiancé, even though Yellow’s court was probably chock full of demons. Yellow was a demon, though, so Dean knew some demons were decent. It’d be fine. 

Yellow texted him again, a pic of something. A weird sigil. 

_ the hell is that _

_ Draw it somewhere on your body before you come here, Dean. It’ll stop demons from possessing you.  _

Dean shrugged. He grabbed the motel pen from his night table and copied the sigil onto his arm. He’d take it, he didn’t wanna get fucking possessed by Yellow’s friends. The address Yellow’d given him was a couple hours away. He stopped for lunch near it before going there. 

The address was just some office building on the outside. Not what he’d expected. He went inside, and some chick greeted him. She was fucking creepy. Like, just standing near her made Dean wanna take an hour long shower and scrub himself raw. 

“Hey, Dean.” Her tone was hostile and condescending. 

Dean scowled at her. “Where’s Yellow?” 

“He’s in his throne room,” she said, “I’ll take you to him.” 

Dean followed her unhappily. She was just disgusting. Was that normal for demons? His skin itched, and he wanted to fucking stab her so fucking much. Being around Yellow’d never felt a thing like this. They reached the throne room and entered through a huge set of double doors. 

Yellow was turned away from Dean, talking to a cute blond child who stood just to the right of his throne. He looked up at the sound of the doors opening, and his eyes were black. Black. Not yellow, not hazel, black. Something was horribly, horribly wrong. 

Yellow’s face still lit up when he saw it was Dean. He smiled, a genuine smile. The smile was all Yellow. But Yellow’s eyes shouldn’t be black. 

“Dean! I missed you.” 

“It’s been two days, Yellow,” Dean said.

“A long two days,” Yellow said, “and every minute counts so close to the wedding. We haven’t talked about clothes, or music, or what we’re going to say in our vows.”

“What happened to your eyes?” Dean asked. 

“Where do you want to go on our honeymoon, Dean?” Yellow asked hurriedly. 

“I want you to tell me what the fucking hell happened to you,” Dean said. 

“Do you wanna wear white, or a dress?” Yellow asked. 

That mighta managed to distract Dean. “The fuck would I wear a dress for?”

“Well, do we wanna go for the typical one partner in a white dress, one partner in a black suit look?” Yellow asked. 

Dean shrugged. “I’m not wearing a fucking dress. ‘Sides that, I don’t care.”

“I think red was the most common wedding color originally,” Yellow said. He got up from his throne to stalk towards Dean and loom over him. “You’d be absolutely stunning in a red dress, Dean.”

Dean snorted. He’d’ve melted and agreed to anything if Yellow’d had hazel or yellow eyes, but these black eyes weren’t Yellow and it stopped him from being his usual fucking irresistible self. “I’m not wearing a fucking dress unless you wear one.”

Yellow’s face lit up. “Deal,” he said, grinning. 

“I was joking!” Dean spluttered. 

“Please, Dean.” The pout on Yellow’s thin lips was all Yellow, even if the eyes weren’t. 

Dean groaned. “I can’t wear a dress,  _ Yellow _ .” 

“Dean,” Yellow pleaded, “It’ll be perfect. I’ll wear the girliest, laciest dress we can find, in white, or even pink if you want. You can wear a more masculine dress, almost a tunic, that’s a harsh red you’d never see on a bride. And I’ll wear makeup and jewelry, and I’ll look so girly nobody will think you’re effeminate cuz you’re standing next to me. Please, Dean?” 

That honestly didn’t sound that bad. “You hafta wear fucking makeup,” Dean said. 

Yellow grinned and nodded. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine.” 

“Thank you, Dean,” Yellow said. He leaned down and pressed his lips to Dean’s. It was a warm, sweet kiss, but Dean tasted something horribly fucking off about it even as he kissed back. Yellow’s mouth tasted like rust and oil and rotten shit. Dean’s eyes opened and met Yellow’s unnatural black eyes. He hated them. Something was so horribly wrong with his Yellow, and he couldn’t help cuz Yellow wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t let him in. 

“Yellow, what happened with your eyes?” Dean asked. 

“Will you just  _ drop it _ , Dean?” 

“No,” Dean said. 

Yellow’s face and shoulders were tense, angry. “Ruby, Lilith, leave us.” 

Dean had forgotten they were still in the room. They left, but Ruby glanced back over her shoulder at Dean. Their eyes met, and he could’ve sworn she was laughing at him. 

Yellow paced back and forth. “Why do you care so much about my eyes? Does it really matter? You never minded when they flickered between yellow and hazel.” 

“Those were you.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Those eyes, right there, those aren’t you.”

Yellow gritted his teeth. “Maybe I’m just more complicated than you thought, Dean.”

“No, you fucking aren’t!” Dean said, “The fuck is wrong with you? Just tell me what happened.”

“No,” Yellow said. 

“So you admit something happened,” Dean said. 

“No, I- fine. But it’s none of your business, Dean.”

“Fucking talk to me, Yellow! We’re getting married tomorrow. You can’t have all these fucking secrets.”

“We’re getting married, not Vulcan mind melded!” Yellow said, “I’ll keep secrets if I want to.”

“No, you fucking won’t, you jerk!” 

“You do not get to dictate my life, human!” Yellow yelled, “Say one more fucking thing and I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Dean mocked, “Run your freak claws over my face? Run crying to Mommy?” 

Yellow growled angrily, the black in his eyes getting overtaken by yellow. He struck Dean on the face. A light, glancing blow that shouldn’t’ve done much damage but did. Pain tore through Dean’s head, centered on his eyes. It burned, and everything went real fucking blurry. 

“Does it hurt, Dean?” Yellow asked softly, “I hope it does. It does hurt, doesn’t it? Good.”

Dean’s vision went out, the pain increased past the level he could handle, and he passed out. 


	12. xii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My messy upbringing left me with a scrambled sense of how sexual consent works. I know there are problems with what happens in this chapter, but I don’t know how bad they are. Note the Dark Sam tag.

Dark. He couldn’t see a fucking thing. There was a bit of dull pain behind his eyes, but nothing worth fussing about. A hand touched his shoulder. Dean flinched away and sat up. He could hear breathing, but he couldn’t see anything. “Yellow?” he asked. Was this blindness Yellow’s fucked up way of punishing him for asking too many questions? Was it even Yellow who was there?

“Hey, Dean.”

Yellow. He didn’t sound mad or anything, but it could be pretty fucking hard to tell with him. And Dean couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see a fucking thing, so it was extra damn hard to figure out what shit Yellow was thinking.

“Did you fucking blind me?” Dean’s voice came out shriller than he wanted. 

“I’m sorry,” Yellow said. 

“You blinded me and you’re fucking  _ sorry _ ?!” Dean’s voice didn’t crack, and his eyes weren’t wet with overemotional tears. Fuck. 

“It’s temporary,” Yellow said, “I have anger management issues. Dean, I really am sorry.”

“What happened to not hurting me?” 

“It didn’t work out, Dean,” Yellow said.

“You’re a dick, Yellow,” Dean said, “You’re a fucking  _ dick _ .” 

Yellow snorted. “The imagery on that insult,” he said. 

Dean rolled his eyes, or he would’ve, but it got him thinking about his eyes and he started freaking the fuck out. How the hell was he supposed to do anything as a blind person? Was he just gonna hafta sit around and hope the fucker who’d blinded him in the first place would take decent care of him? He didn’t know if he could do that. He didn’t know if he could fucking do that. 

Yellow put his arm around Dean’s shoulders. “What’s wrong, Dean?” 

The fuck was wrong with Yellow that he had to ask? Dean was fucking blind. Shit, he was blind. He felt desperate and panicky, freaking out with nothing to do about it. So he tried to fucking kiss Yellow. He wasn’t sure why he did it. Comfort? Just a distraction? Tryna make sure Yellow wasn’t mad and wouldn’t fucking hurt him again?

How the hell did blind people manage kissing? Dean’s lip hit Yellow’s jaw, their noses bumped awkwardly. Yellow caught onto what Dean wanted, held his head still and fucking plundered his mouth. Dean felt safe, somehow, while Yellow kissed him all harsh and dominant like that. It was erotic as hell, and Dean was hot, sweaty and aroused stupidly quickly. Yellow pulled back, but Dean still felt his breath on his lips, so he hadn’t gone far. 

“I should’ve realized being blind would trigger your helplessness kink,” Yellow said. 

Dean did not have a fucking helplessness kink. He said as much, and Yellow laughed at him. 

“Oh, you don’t, huh?” Yellow asked. 

He was suddenly on top of Dean, pinning him. Dean was caught off guard and couldn’t see what was going on to figure out how to fight back. Yellow had him lying on his back with his legs open and his wrists tied to the head board so fast. He pulled Dean’s shirt off somehow and took away his pants and boxers. He pressed his fully clothed body against Dean’s exposed, naked one, making Dean feel even more fucking helpless. 

And Dean was feeling really fucking helpless. He’d never been naked with Yellow before, and now he was naked and Yellow was clothed, and Dean was blind and couldn’t get any idea of Yellow’s reaction to his body. The helplessness and fear had heat pooling in Dean’s groin. He whined as his cock stiffened. And he was naked, so Yellow could see how his body was reacting. That just made it worse. Dean’s hips thrust upwards involuntarily, and he couldn’t stop another fucking whine from escaping his mouth. 

Yellow sat back between his legs. “You’re beautiful, Dean,” he said, running his hand up the inside of Dean’s thigh. “So beautiful.”

Dean’s face heated up. He wasn’t a fucking girl, he shouldn’t like Yellow saying shit like that. 

“I hadn’t thought the freckles would be down here too,” Yellow said, skimming his hands over Dean’s thighs. 

“It’s just freckles,” Dean grumbled, “Fucking touch me already.” The helplessness from the ties on his wrists, coupled with Yellow saying embarrassing shit like that was making Dean feel real fucking needy, and he wasn’t ready to be teased. 

Yellow sloppily licked his way down Dean’s happy trail. He pressed light, teasing kisses to Dean’s cock, not letting Dean get any of the friction he wanted. And then he manhandled Dean, folding him over on himself to expose his ass. Dean’s breathing sped up. Nobody’d ever done that to him before. 

Yellow massaged Dean’s ass cheeks with his big, strong hands. It was amazing. Dean really wished Yellow would go back to his cock, though. Instead he parted Dean’s cheeks and licked down his crack and over his hole. 

“Yellow.” Dean’s voice was breathier than he’d like. Bottoming and getting effected like this was fucking scary. “Nobody’s ever touched me there before. If you’re gonna fucking do that- shit. Just don’t make it hurt.” He’d heard about anal and it did not sound fun. 

“I’ll distract you, then,” Yellow said, “Let me know if you don’t like anything.”

There was a wet, sloppy sucking noise, and wet fingers rubbed against Dean’s hole. It was really fucking weird, but it felt good, too. Made him feel open and helpless as shit. 

The warm, wet heat of Yellow’s mouth enveloped Dean’s cock, and he stopped thinking about the fingers on his hole. Yellow wasn’t an expert at giving head by any means, but he was enthusiastic with a warm, sloppy style that didn’t take too much experience. And with Dean already hard and wanting, it didn’t take much to have him distracted. 

Dean was kinda aware that Yellow had massaged him open and fit two fingers inside him, but it didn’t feel worth worrying about. It made him feel a bit more helpless and open, and there were weird spikes of heat he hadn’t expected. Yellow’s fingers were long, and the depth and the whole feeling of being penetrated made Dean feel pretty damn incredible. 

He came, Yellow’s name tumbling from his lips as he shot his cum down Yellow’s throat. Yellow lightly sucked on Dean’s cock through the orgasm and kept slowly thrusting his fingers in and out of Dean’s hole until the aftershocks died down. He pulled his fingers out of Dean’s ass. It was the weirdest feeling, and then when Yellow’s fingers were gone Dean was left so empty. He whimpered, ass clenching unhappily down on nothing. 

Yellow crawled up the bed and lay next to Dean, untying his wrists. “That feel ok?” he asked. 

“Wasn’t too bad,” Dean said. He wasn’t gonna say how much he liked it. 

“You must’ve liked it at least a little,” Yellow said, “with the way your ass was swallowing up my fingers.” 

Dean did not blush. 


	13. xiii

“Are your eyes still black?”

“No,” Yellow said, “They’ve been hazel for a while.” 

“Good,” Dean said. 

Yellow laid his head on Dean’s chest. Dean ran his fingers through Yellow’s hair. It was so soft, felt even softer since Dean’s sense of touch was way stronger from being fucking blind. 

“If I ask you why your eyes were black earlier, are you going to hit me again?” Dean asked. 

“No,” Yellow mumbled. 

“Why, then?” Dean demanded. 

“I didn’t say I’d tell you,” Yellow said. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Is there any other way I can make this up to you?” Yellow asked. 

“You got any other fucking secrets you don’t wanna tell me?” Dean asked. 

“Yeah,” Yellow said, “If I tell you that, you’ll stop worrying I’m going to hurt you again?”

That seemed like a weird thing to agree to, but Dean might as well go for it. He’d pretty much calmed down around Yellow already anyway. “Yeah,” he said, “Spill.” 

Yellow took a deep breath, like he was psyching himself up for a big reveal. “I’m human.” 

“Fucking what?” Dean asked his demon fiancé. There was no fucking way Yellow was human. The eyes, the strength, the psychic shit with the mind control, the teleporting, etc. 

“I’m human,” Yellow repeated, “Or at least, I was born that way. I had a human family, parents and a brother who loved me. Azazel became my father when he kidnapped me when I was a baby. He changed me, made me more demon than anything else, but I used to be human.” Yellow’s voice was raw. 

“Holy shit,” Dean said. 

Yellow laughed a bit hysterically. “Holy shit? That’s the reaction you come up with?” 

Dean shrugged. It didn’t quite work though, cuz Yellow was using him as a pillow. “Gimme a minute. You’re not a demon. That kinda makes sense.”

“It does?” Yellow asked. 

“The other demons are super fucking creepy,” Dean said, “You do creepy shit sometimes, but just you in general’s not creepy.”

“I guess that’s good,” Yellow said. 

“What was it like being a human kid growing up in hell?” That was so awful Dean couldn’t really process it. 

Yellow shrugged. “Normal. It’s not like I had anything to compare it to.”

“That sucks,” Dean said. 

Dean played with Yellow’s thick, silky soft hair for a while, and they talked about lighter things. But Dean needed fucking answers, even if it would make Yellow mad. “What happened to your eyes?”

Yellow’s body tensed. “Stop. Asking.”

“No, fuck you,” Dean said, “You can’t just turn up with black eyes and be a total dick and give me no fucking explanation!” 

Yellow sat up and fucking left the bed. Dean heard a door slam. Dean pouted and rolled onto his side, facing away from the noise. Time passed, and pretty soon he needed to pee. He sat up. 

“Yellow!” he called, “I need the bathroom, and you fucking blinded me so you hafta help me find it.” 

There was no response for a while, so Dean huffed and got up. What had Yellow done with his clothes? He wasn’t gonna walk around naked in a place he didn’t know. Dean ended up stuck fucking crawling on the floor trying to find his clothes. He was gonna kill Yellow when he found him. He got his clothes on and stumbled around looking for the door. 

Walking around blindly was not fun. Not fun at all. Dean kept freaking out thinking there was a wall in front of him and then there would be fuck all there. He couldn’t find a bathroom. He found a room with a fuck ton of books, and something he thought was maybe a kitchen. There was a door that led outside. Dean thought about going out there, but he was blind. It’d probably just make things worse overall if he escaped while handicapped like this. 

A noise made Dean freeze. He knew that noise from years of hunting. A knife stabbing into flesh. There was a muffled whimper, a growl, more stabbing. Dean headed slowly towards the noise, quiet as he could. A wall. He walked along it, found a door, opened it quickly and paused in the doorway. 

There was a yelp. “Dean! Hi. Didn’t expect you here.” 

“Yellow? The fuck are you doing? Who’s here with you?” Dean could smell blood in the air. 

“It’s just us, Dean,” Yellow said, “and I’m- reading this book.” The first bit sounded honest enough, but if Yellow had been fucking reading then Dean wasn’t a hunter. 

“Great,” he said, “More lies. Should’ve expected that: it’s you.”

“What’re you doing here, Dean?” Yellow asked. 

“Looking for the bathroom,” Dean said, “Got distracted by the sounds of you stabbing somebody.” 

“Well, you couldn’t have been,” Yellow snapped, “There’s nobody here to be stabbed. The bathroom’s just across the hall.” 

“Tell me why I smell blood,” Dean said. The funny thing was his ears had improved from losing his eyes, and he could only hear his noises and Yellow’s. Had Yellow zapped away the person he’d been stabbing? 

“Dean, go away. Now,” Yellow said. 

“Yellow, tell me who you stabbed. Now,” Dean mimicked. 

Yellow’s fist connected with Dean’s face. Dean stumbled and caught himself on the door frame. Yellow punched him again, and Dean managed to catch and hold Yellow’s fist. It was wet, and the scent of blood was stronger in the air. Confused, Dean ran his free hand up Yellow’s wrist. Yellow jerked his hand away with a cry of pain, but not before Dean had felt a series of stab wounds on Yellow’s arm. 

“Somebody stabbed you?” Dean asked, “You stabbed you?” 

“Get out!” Yellow pushed Dean back from the doorway and slammed the door shut. Dean heard the lock click. 


	14. xiv

“Can we talk about this?” 

Yellow didn’t say a fucking thing, but Dean hadn’t really expected him to. Just hoped. 

“Hurting yourself isn’t gonna make you feel better,” Dean said, “or- are you punishing yourself?” 

“Go  _ away _ ,” Yellow said. 

“Talking about how you feel is supposed to help with this sort of thing,” Dean said, “I’m just tryna help you, Yellow.” 

“Will you  _ fuck off _ ?” Yellow asked, “I’ve been being horrid to you; you’re supposed to hate me.”

“Well, too bad, cuz I fucking don’t,” Dean said, “You gonna let me in?” 

“Why do you always need to know everything?” Yellow complained. 

“I just want an explanation for why you’re being weird as shit, Yellow,” Dean said. 

Yellow was quiet for a bit. “Dean, do you still want to marry me tomorrow? After all the stuff I’ve done?” 

Dean had to think about how to answer that. “You said you weren’t gonna hurt me, and then that that didn’t work out. And you punched me again a couple times just now. Are you giving up, Yellow, or do you actually want this relationship to work?”

“I want it to work,” Yellow said. 

“Let me in, then, and I’ll fucking marry you tomorrow,” Dean said. 

Footsteps, the lock clicked, the door opened. Dean reached out blindly, found Yellow. Yellow took his hand and led him across the room. 

“Here, sit down,” he said. 

Dean sat in a chair. He heard Yellow sit down next to him. 

“I think unblinding me would be a good start to getting this relationship back on track,” Dean said. 

“I’m not very good at healing, Dean,” Yellow said, “I don’t know if I can.” 

“At least fucking try,” Dean said. He was sick and tired of being blind. 

Yellow’s fingers touched between Dean’s eyes for a moment, then fell away. Dean watched Yellow collapse to the floor in a faint. Watched. He could fucking see again! But Yellow was lying there, not moving. It was a bit worrying. And now that Dean could see the state of Yellow’s arms, it was just awful. It looked like he’d stabbed himself with a knife, and just kept stabbing and stabbing until he ran out of uncut flesh to stab, then traded hands with the knife and stabbed his other arm. 

“The fuck did you do to yourself, Yellow?” 

Dean hauled Yellow up onto the bed, taking off his shirt and ripping it up, using it to stop the bleeding on Yellow’s arms. He got Yellow bandaged and tucked him in. He wanted answers about what the fuck had just happened, but he didn’t know when Yellow’d wake up. He was just about to leave when Yellow stirred. 

Dean hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Yellow’s hazel eyes until they opened. They were the fucking cutest eyes ever. Yellow’s yellow eyes were hot as hell, but they couldn’t match the charm of his hazel eyes. Yellow’s hazel eyes blinked shut, opened again. His body tensed, and his breathing sped up. 

“Dean.” His voice was small, plaintive. 

“Yeah, Yellow, I’m here,” Dean said. 

“I can’t see you,” Yellow said, “I must’ve accidentally transferred the blindness instead of taking it away.”

“Karma,” Dean said. He felt bad for Yellow, sure, but it wasn’t like he didn’t fucking deserve this shit. 

“That’s so nice of you, Dean,” Yellow snarked. 

“I’m the nicest person ever, babe,” Dean said, patting Yellow’s shoulder. 

Yellow rolled those cute hazel eyes at Dean. 

“Well, I’m fucking starving,” Dean said, “You wanna go somewhere for dinner?” 

“Uh, sure, I guess,” Yellow said, “I can’t exactly cook blind. Dean, do you have some kind of defense against demons? Cuz if not, this might not be safe.” 

“Your demony power won’t protect us?” 

Yellow winced. “We should have something extra,” he said, “Just in case. There’s a knife in the drawer in the end table. Grab that: it kills demons.” 

“You have a knife that can kill demons?” Dean asked. Cool. There were two knives in the drawer: a hunting knife with funny symbols on it, and a smaller knife coated in drying blood. “Is it the one you stabbed yourself with?”

“No.” Yellow’s voice was small again. “It’s the one with the deer antler handle.”

Dean grabbed the non blood soaked knife. “Why were you stabbing yourself?”

“None of your business, Dean.” Yellow mighta been trying to sound intimidating, but it was just sorta pathetic. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if it’s short and uneventful or anything. I’ve been sick all day. I’ll try to make tomorrow’s chapter more interesting.


	15. xv

“This isn’t working,” Yellow said miserably, “It’s just not gonna work.” 

Dean snorted. “No, it definitely is not fucking working.”

“I’m trying, it just- it won’t-” Yellow dropped his fork and covered his face with his hands in despair. 

“Cheer up,” Dean said, “I’ll help you, Yellow.” He took Yellow’s fork and speared a bite of the pie that was driving poor, blind Yellow insane. “Open up.”

Yellow lowered his hands and opened his mouth. He should obey Dean more often: it was real fucking cute. Yellow’s thin lips wrapped around the fork, and Dean watched, mesmerized, as he swallowed. He wished he’d been able to see earlier when Yellow sucked him off. They’d have to give that another shot. 

“The pie’s not actually bad here,” Yellow said. 

“It’s always good,” Dean said, “It’s pie, Yellow. Pie.”

Yellow shrugged. “So?” 

Dean gave up. Yellow was fucking hopeless. He didn’t like cars or pie. What else was there? 

Dean noticed Yellow tense. “The- the witch, Jess- she’s here.”

“Can’t be,” Dean said, “I killed her.”

“No, no,” Yellow said, “It’s the same presence as before, cloaked the same way.”

“Maybe it’s not Jess,” Dean said. 

“Maybe,” Yellow said, “Can we go? I don’t like this.”

Dean didn’t like it either. He threw enough money for their meal on the table and led Yellow out of there. 

“Zap us back to your place,” Dean said. 

Yellow shook his head. “Can’t. I have to see for that to work, Dean.”

“Alright,” Dean said, “Hopefully whatever it is can’t follow a car.” He led Yellow to the plastic junk car they’d taken to the diner, and they got out of there. Dean wished he had Baby, but Yellow’d fucking left her behind that afternoon when he’d zapped Dean from his court to his house. It sucked, but Dean had to use this piece of crap for now. 

“Any guesses besides Jess on who the presence thingy could be?” 

Yellow shook his head. “I only know a couple other witches, and I haven’t angered any of the ones who would think to stalk us like this. You’re sure you didn’t make any witch enemies hunting?” 

“I don’t hunt fucking witches very often,” Dean said, “They’re fucking disgusting.”

“Could you’ve pissed off a witch with that attitude, Dean?” 

“You piss off anybody who’d work with a witch?” Dean asked. 

“I’m the king of hell, Dean,” Yellow said, “What do you think? I have a thousand enemies and any of them would happily work with a witch to try to bring me down.”

“Great,” Dean said, “That’s no fucking help.”

“Look, if you were looking for a problem free relationship, you shouldn’t have accepted my proposal,” Yellow said, “And you should find yourself a different job, because hunting is just going to turn everything around you into a wreck anyway.”

“Hunting was just fine until you came along, Yellow,” Dean said.

“Oh really?” Yellow snapped, “Your father dead, you supposed to be dead, your mother dead, your brother- dead, no friends, sounds like everything was going great for you, Dean.” 

“Will you shut the fuck up!” Dean yelled. 

“Well, it’s true,” Yellow said. 

“You know what?” Dean said, “You can walk home, Yellow.” He pulled over. 

“Dean, it’s my car,” Yellow said, “You can’t throw me out of  _ my _ car. And I’m blind!”

“Do I fucking look like I care?” Dean reached over Yellow, opening his door and kicking him out onto the side of the road. Yellow didn’t fight it. He looked like he was too shocked and confused to know what to do. 

Dean felt sorta bad, but he was too mad to care much. He drove off. He wasn’t a monster, he’d pick Yellow up in a bit. He just needed some time to calm down. Dean made sure he’d remember where he’d dumped Yellow, noting the mile marker and an old barn off in some fields. 

He went back to Yellow’s house for a bit, hung around, cooled the fuck down, felt guilty, and headed back out to pick up Yellow. He found the spot, he was sure. The mile marker was right, the barn was in the right spot, but no Yellow. He drove up and down the road, no Yellow. It was getting dark, maybe he’d missed him. Dean got out and looked around on foot. 

There was something smeared on the ground maybe twenty meters down the road from where Dean had abandoned Yellow. Blood, mixed with some icky black fluid Dean didn’t recognize. It was oily and smelled like rotten flesh. The smell was familiar, but Dean couldn’t place it and he knew he’d never seen the gunk before. 

He looked around. There were clear signs of a struggle, and no Yellow. Fucking hell. Where was he? Had he gotten kidnapped cuz Dean was a bit pissed at him and dumped him on the side of the road? Yellow’d just said he had a whole bunch of enemies, and then Dean went and left him vulnerable like an idiot. He had to find him. 

Dean found Yellow lying on the ground a ways away from the road, completely still and with blood smeared messily across his face. 


	16. xvi

“Son of a bitch! Yellow! Yellow?” Dean tried not to panic. He pressed his fingers to the side of Yellow’s neck. “Oh, thank fuck.” There was a pulse. Dean didn’t see any obvious damage to Yellow’s body, so maybe he was fucking ok. 

Yellow’s eyes opened. 

Dean jumped back on reflex. Black. Yellow’s eyes were black again. Not hazel, not yellow, black. No pupil, no iris, nothing. Fucking hell. 

“Who’s there?” Yellow asked. His voice was rough and croaky. 

“It’s Dean, Yellow,” Dean said. Those eyes were so wrong. 

“You came back,” Yellow said. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, “You hurt?” 

“Just a little,” Yellow said. He sat up. It was obviously a fucking struggle, but he did it. “I’m fine.” 

“Can you walk?” 

Dean ended up having to help Yellow limp his way to the car. Partly cuz he was weak and shaky and fragile as hell, and partly just cuz he still couldn’t see a damn thing. 

“What happened?” Dean asked, as they finally drove away from that stretch of road. 

Yellow wiped blood off his chin with his shirtsleeve. His eyes were like black holes, just pure darkness and nothingness. “Nothing,” he said. 

“Nothing,” Dean said, “Fucking nothing. What the hell, Yellow?!” 

“Nothing that concerns you, Dean,” Yellow said haughtily. 

“This again,” Dean said, “Seriously, Yellow. Are you fucking allergic to sharing information?” 

Yellow scowled and turned towards the window. He didn’t say anything, and Dean gave up. 

Yellow’s eyes were hazel in the morning, and his smile was fucking adorable. It made Dean happy, seeing Yellow smile like that. 

“We’re getting married today!” 

“I want some answers first,” Dean said. 

Yellow’s face got guarded real fucking fast when Dean brought up actually talking about shit. “Answers,” Yellow said, “What kind of answers, Dean?” 

“What is it that’s turning your eyes black,” Dean said. He was getting his answers right then; he was sick of all these fucking secrets. 

“So you’re saying you won’t marry me until I tell you,” Yellow said, “Dean, that’s messed up.”

Dean shrugged. “A ton of shit’s messed up right now. Tell me, or we’re not getting fucking married, Yellow.” 

Yellow’s eyes flashed yellow in anger. “Fine,” he said, “I’ve been drinking- demon blood.”

“You’ve been drinking what?” Dean asked. 

Yellow rolled his eyes. “Demon blood, Dean. Were you listening?”

“That doesn’t sound good, Yellow,” Dean said, “The fuck is it doing to you?”

“So get this, Dean, besides turning my eyes black, it affects my powers in some way,” Yellow said, “There’s a lot of lore on demon blood. It was what gave me my powers originally, so theoretically it ought to strengthen them. But it doesn’t seem to. It’s been affecting me somehow, but I can’t quite tell how.” 

“Great,” Dean said, “So you’re taking evil drugs. How long’s this been going on?” 

“Thursday, I think,” Yellow said, “Ruby- anyway, I started drinking demon blood.”

“Thursday,” Dean said, “OK. This doesn’t answer what happened to you with the lying on the ground bloody thing yesterday.” 

“That’s not important,” Yellow said, “You said you’d marry me if I told you why my eyes turned black. Dean, we need to get married now.” 

“Well, yeah, but-” Dean said. 

“Let’s go look at wedding dresses,” Yellow said. 

“Dresses!” Dean asked, “I’m not wearing a fucking dress.” 

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” Yellow said. 

Dean groaned. “How bad are the dresses?” 

Dean did not think the dress Yellow ended up sticking him in was cute. It was a short, flowery, lacey dress, but it was pretty low key somehow. Dean knew fuck all about dresses, but it looked good on him and Yellow liked it, so whatever. At least it was all plain, dark red. And it was almost like a tunic, just a lace tunic. 

“Isn’t wearing red to a wedding a bad thing or something?” Dean asked. 

“It’s the color of life, Dean,” Yellow said, “It was a thing before people realized white dresses were harder to clean.”

“How the fuck does that make sense?” Dean asked. 

“Royals set the trend,” Yellow explained, “It’s not supposed to make sense.” 

“Yellow, why are we wearing wedding dresses?” Dean asked, “We’re dudes. We should be wearing suits.” 

“Dean, we’re wearing dresses because we can,” Yellow said, grinning, “Suits aren’t special. This is unforgettable. The first time the Winchesters wore dresses. And makeup.” 

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Dean said, “But, sure. Why the fuck not?”

Yellow was somehow managing to look masculine in a white satin dress, with blue eyeshadow, mascara, pink blush on his cheeks, and a deep red highlighting his thin lips. Masculine. Dressed up as girly as possible. Dean didn’t know how that fucking worked, but whatever. 

“You’re planning to wear makeup, right, Dean?” 

“No,” Dean said. His face was kinda soft. He’d look girly. 

Yellow did the big, pleading hazel eyes thing. 

“Fine.” Dean picked up a tube of pink lipstick. “How the fuck do I even put this on?”

“Maybe not that shade,” Yellow said, “Here, let me.” He got another tube of pink lipstick that looked just about the same to Dean and rubbed it on Dean’s lips. 

“That looks fucking weird,” Dean complained. It was pale and shimmery and made his lips look more plush than normal. 

He ended up wearing a lot less and milder makeup than Yellow. It was soft, girly makeup where Yellow’s was harsher and brighter. Dean was definitely just doing this for Yellow, though. He didn’t like it at all. 

The wedding started. Dean waited at the altar, feeling super fucking awkward, while some demon played wedding music. It got better when Yellow showed up. He was wearing a veil, and dressed all in white he looked like a fucking bride. 

Some priest guy ran them through all the normal stuff. It was a short wedding, at least. Dean woulda fucking died if it had been one of those dumb two hour long weddings. He did the ‘speak up if these two shouldn’t get married’ thing, the ‘I do’s, and he got up to the vows. 

“I, Sam, take thee, Dean-” 

Dean’s world froze. Fucking what? Sam?


	17. xvii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s thoughts are a bit of a jumbled mess. I hope it makes sense. I think it does, but let me know if anything’s confusing.

Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam. Yellow. Sam. Human, with parents and a brother. Yellow had said that. Yellow, kidnapped as a baby. Sam, killed as a baby. Sam, kidnapped as a baby? Yellow, Sam? Dean’s brain was so confused. Was Yellow his little brother? He’d cum down his little brother’s throat. They were getting married. Oh, god. 

Yellow was talking. “-and thereto I plight thee my troth.” Wedding vows. Dean and Yellow were reciting wedding vows. Dean and Sam? It was Dean’s turn. Could he marry his brother? That was wrong, right? Fucking hell. Dean had no fucking clue. What was he even supposed to do with this situation? Sam was Yellow? Little baby Sammy he’d loved so much?

The priest was prompting him to start his vows. Dean could run. Get the fuck out of there and unscramble his brain. He should do that. You don’t marry your brother. But Yellow was looking at Dean with soft, trusting, slightly confused hazel eyes. He’d be devastated if Dean ran from this. Was there anything in the vows he couldn’t say to his little brother? 

“I, Dean, take thee-” Dean paused. Fucking hell. What name was he supposed to use? Sam? Son of a bitch. He couldn’t fucking do this. But Yellow or Sam was still looking at him, so maybe he could. “Sam- to my wedded husband-” This was wrong. This was so, so wrong. But he  _ couldn’t  _ abandon Yellow at the altar. And if Yellow was Sam, his little brother, that was just more reason not to hurt him. “To have and to hold, from this day forward.” That was better. Holding his brother was fine. He could do that for Sam or Yellow. A lover, a brother, it worked. Right? Holy fucking hell. “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health-” That was better, that was ok. Dean could promise this to Sam. “For eternity-” Was that normally in a wedding vow? Dean had thought it was just until they died. Eternity? Death wouldn’t mean much to the king of hell. Wait a second. Dean’s  _ baby brother  _ was the king of hell. Holy fucking shit! Little baby Sammy. How could this have happened? Sam had been kidnapped, fed demon blood, grown up in hell, been raped by his torturer when he was barely more than a child, had to kill the demon he thought of as his father- and Dean hadn’t been able to help or protect him because he was stupid and thought he was dead. He should’ve done something. Eternity and everything else Sam wanted was the least Dean could promise after letting all that shit happen to Sammy. “And thereto I plight thee my troth.” Dean had no fucking clue what that meant, but he’d promise Sammy the fucking world if it was what he wanted. 

Yellow caught Dean’s hand. “With this ring I thee wed, this gold and silver I thee give, and with my body I thee worship, and with all I have I thee endow.” Sam slid a ring onto Dean’s left ring finger. 

And then Dean said it too, and he was putting a ring on Sam’s finger, and he and Yellow were married. He’d just married his little brother. Son of a bitch. 

“You may now kiss,” the priest said. 

Dean just leaned forward on instinct and pressed his lips to Yellow’s. He was kissing his baby brother. What the fuck was he gonna do? Sam kissed back, gently licking his way into Dean’s mouth. There was nothing brotherly about it. Could a kiss be brotherly? Fucking hell, this was a fucking mess. 

The reception was a blur. There was food and music and demons everywhere, and Dean danced, or really just stomped on Yellow’s toes, to the rock music he’d picked out that morning. Dancing with your brother wasn’t bad, right? But he’d married his brother. He was married. He’d never thought he’d get married, and now he was married and it was to his fucking brother. Finally the reception was over, and Sam zapped them back to his bedroom. 

Shit. Son of a bitch. It was their wedding night! Dean was gonna get fucked by his little brother. That was so dirty and wrong and messed up. There was no way he could do this. But it was real fucking easy once it started happening. Sam kissed him, warm and slow and deep, and backed him up until his legs hit the edge of the bed and he fell back onto it. 

And then it was just lips against his own, hands on his body pulling his clothes off. Firm, large, sturdy hands, making his hips buck up against the naked body above him. Lips on his neck, sucking, smearing red lipstick on his skin. The nip of teeth, a tingle of pain that went straight to his cock. Kisses, messy warm kisses where the teeth had nipped, more nipping, biting, a sloppy wet tongue on his skin. 

Sweat, heat, he was burning up, wanting, needing. Yellow eyes glowed above him. Lips on his own, dominant, taking. Harsh and ravishing and burning, and those bright yellow eyes. 

Softness. Sucking on his lower lip. Teeth. He was moaning, wanting, helpless and not able to think anymore. Hands everywhere on his body. He was heating up, he wanted. So badly. Hands, lower. Touching, massaging, pressing against his hole. Burning need. 

Sticky warm wetness. Soaked fingers on him, in him, pressing inside. He was trembling, shaking, soaked in sweat and begging, rutting up into the warm, sticky hand on his cock. Fingers inside him, stretching, a touch of pain but it was all so good. 

A squelching noise as the fingers pulled out of his hole. Empty. His hole fluttered, he whined. Something pushing at his hole. Not fingers. A cock thrust slowly inside him. He pushed upward with his hips, trying to make it faster, needing. It hurt. It stretched him wide, almost more than he could take. It was so deep and huge inside him. 

Finally, Sam was balls deep in Dean’s ass. His thrusts were slow, languid, driving Dean wild. Faster, he needed. Faster. The cock in his ass moved painfully slowly, an even, torturous rhythm. He fucked himself up onto it, weakly, erratically, paceless and desperate. 

Hands on his thighs, holding him still. Stuck. He could only take what he got, curse, lift his shaking body up so he could press clumsy, frantic kisses to thin, parted lips. Sam’s cock kept moving so slowly in him, for so long. He was desperate, on fire, but it didn’t change the steady, controlled pace. Speed up, dammit. 

His pleasure and arousal built to a fevered, overwhelming place. Too much, it was too much and yet not quite enough. He wasn’t really breathing anymore, just panting, gasping. His head spun, his body couldn’t stop shaking, he needed to cum so badly, he was going crazy from it. 

Yellow eyes faded and lit to hazel. Hazel. Sammy. He was getting fucked by his baby brother. Dean’s cock exploded as he came with his brother’s name on his lips. 


	18. xviii

Dean was lying in bed with Yellow, their sweaty naked bodies tangled together between the sheets of their fucking marriage bed. And Yellow was maybe his baby brother. Dean had better be fucking wrong about this. 

“So, you’re fucking Sam,” Dean said, “You couldn’t’ve told me earlier?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” Yellow said, “It was so complicated, and I knew you’d be angry, and you could’ve dumped me over it, and I didn’t know what to do. So I just dropped hints and waited for you to figure it out. You never asked my name, Dean! How was I supposed to bring something like this up? What’d you want me to do?” Sam’s voice got more and more frantic and panicky as he spoke. 

“Fucking chill, Yellow,” Dean said, “I’m not mad. I’m just- shit. I need space. To fucking sort out this fucking mess.”

“Right,” Sam said, biting his lip and ducking his head. “Of course.” He forced a smile. “I’ll just get going, then. You should definitely have space.”

He wasn’t about to start crying, was he? Crap. Now Dean felt like a jerk. 

Sam disentangled their limbs and got out of bed. There were scratch marks all down his back Dean couldn’t really remember leaving. Bottoming had sure fried Dean’s brain if he’d dug his nails into Sam’s skin that hard. He’d let his brother stick his cock in him. This was just a fucking disaster. 

Sam looked around like he was trying to find his clothes, then gave up and just left. The door swung shut behind him, and Dean heard what was definitely crying in the hall. He was such a bad big brother. He’d just got Sam back, and already he was making him cry. 

Could Dean really leave Sam crying in the hallway outside their room? No. No, he fucking couldn’t. Dean got up and limped over to the door. His ass was fucking sore and painful, but in a way that made Dean’s cock twitch. That was wrong. His baby brother fucking him was not something he was gonna think about ever again. Not happening. 

He opened the door. Sam was slumped on the floor. His eyes were red, tears streamed down his cheeks, and his shoulders were wracked with sobs. It made Dean feel like the biggest asshole to ever asshole. Sam looked up at him, tried half heartedly to hide how upset he was, and gave up after a moment. 

“Hey,” Dean said, sitting down next to Sam. 

Sam just stared at Dean and didn’t say anything. 

“So, you’re not happy right now,” Dean said, “And, um, what’s up?” Talking about emotions with crying people was so damn hard. The fuck was Dean supposed to say?

“Not happy right now,” Sam repeated, “Talk about understatements. It’s just-” His hands clenched into fists and he scowled at the floor. “You’ll think about it, you’ll realize you barely know me and don’t care about me, you’ll decide being married to your brother is too confusing and messy, and you’ll leave. And you won’t care when I try to blackmail or strongarm you into staying, because you’ll have guessed, correctly, that I don’t want to hurt you when I’m thinking straight, so you’ll leave and there won’t be anything I can do to stop you short of handcuffing you to the table leg, which would make both of us miserable.” 

“Can you come back to our bed and we’ll just sleep for the night?” Dean said. 

“You wanted space.” 

“I can get space in the morning,” Dean said, “C’mon, Sammy.”

“Nobody calls me Sammy,” Sam said.

“Well, Sammy, I do now,” Dean said, “Deal with it.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but he wasn’t crying anymore so something must’ve worked. They went back to their bed. Dean lay on the opposite side of the bed from Sam and scooted away from him when he tried to close the distance between them. This was his fucking little brother, and they were both naked in the very same bed Sam had just fucked Dean into. Not cool, dude. 

But then there was the small, wounded noise from Sam, and Dean couldn't resist that. “Fine,” he grumped, “You can hold me.” 

Sam immediately, eagerly, spooned him, cuddling him and holding him super close, skin to skin under the sheets. They might as well be the same fucking person, they were pressed so close together. He wouldn’t have thought he’d fit so neatly with Sam, but he was just the right amount smaller than his giant baby brother. Dean ended up snuggling back into Sam and enjoying his warmth. He fell asleep slowly in Sam’s embrace. 


	19. xix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a plan for this chapter. Oh, well.

Sam was gone most of the next day, giving Dean space to think things through. Space Dean wasn’t sure he wanted. Thinking was a fucking nightmare. If he could just pick a course of action and damn the consequences it’d be so much easier, or pretend there wasn’t a fucking problem, or something, but he couldn’t and it was wrecking him. He had to actually go through everything and carefully get to the best answer. 

He could leave. Like Sam had worried about. It’d be a dick move, and he’d know constantly how much he’d hurt his Sammy. He’d see Sammy sobbing on the floor in the hallway every fucking time he closed his eyes. Not an option. This whole mess had him haunted enough as it was. 

Dean would stay with Sam, then. It was what he wanted to do, anyway. But as a brother, as a lover, or as both? Dean’s brain hurt. Maybe getting blackout drunk would help. It was kinda early for it, though. He’d just decide what to do and then maybe he’d get drunk if he needed to. 

Brother. There was no fucking way Dean could not treat Sam like his brother now that he knew. Was he cool with fucking his brother? Incest was evil and wrong. Dad would be so damn disappointed if he knew Dean had even thought of it as an option. Fuck Dad. This was about Dean and Sammy, what they wanted, nobody else. And Sammy wanted to fuck Dean. Was Dean ok with that? He had no fucking clue. 

A brilliant solution occurred to Dean. Play it by ear and figure out what the fuck he was doing as he did it. No more stupid thinking nightmares. He’d just do whatever, love his little brother however worked in the moment, and he’d see what happened. He was a hunter; he’d broken a million rules of decency and shit like that, so why should incest bother him? It wasn’t like he could get pregnant and have inbred children, so it didn’t matter. 

“Hey, Dean.” 

Sam was back. Fucking finally. Dean was beyond done with this thinking through your problems shit. Sam’s eyes were fucking black again, though. 

“Demon blood,” Dean said, “Great. Just great. Fucking everything about drinking blood sounds like a bad idea, Sam.” 

“It doesn’t do anything, Dean,” Sam said, annoyed. He coughed. 

“How would you know?” Dean demanded, “You’ve been on it for half a week.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam bit out. 

Dean scowled but decided not to press it. 

Sam huffed and left. 

Dean didn’t see Sam again until he went to bed and found Sam already asleep. He looked real fucking innocent and fragile curled up under the sheet. He better not be fucking hurting himself with the demon blood. It was just a gut instinct, but Dean knew that shit was bad. And drinking demon blood? How the fuck could that sound like a good idea to anyone? 

Dean stripped and lay down next to Sam. Within minutes Sam had scooted over to Dean in his sleep and was on him like an octopus. It was comfortable, having Sam use him as a pillow/teddy bear. Easy to fall asleep that way. He hoped he’d never lose this. 

Sam was there when Dean woke up. Not still there, he’d showered and dressed and probably gone for a fucking morning jog like he liked to do for some reason, but he was there, sitting in bed with Dean working on his laptop. His eyes were the glowing, burning yellow color. Dean wondered what he was working on to make him look like that. 

“Hey,” Dean said. 

Sam did something on his computer, before turning to Dean and smiling. “You’re awake.” His eyes went hazel. 

“Yup,” Dean said. 

“Was, uh,” Sam said, “one day enough space?” 

“Think so,” Dean said. He was a bit fuzzy on how to say what he’d decided, so he didn’t say anything. 

“Are you staying?” 

“No, I’m gonna go get coffee and brush my teeth,” Dean said. 

“I meant are you going to stay with me on a long term basis?” Sam said. 

Dean sat up and patted Sam’s shoulder. “Not gonna leave you, Sammy,” he said. 

“It’s Sam.” But Sam was smiling again. 

“Sure, Sammy.”

Dean went with Sam to his court that day. He hadn’t really known what to expect from the court of the king of hell, but it wasn’t dull, boring, bureaucratic political gamesmanship. Dean was totally lost and bored out of his fucking tree. 

“I’m gonna go watch molasses drip off a spoon,” Dean said, “It’d be more fucking interesting than watching you deal with this shit. Later, Sam.” 

“Alright,” Sam said, “I’ll catch you at dinner?” 

“Sure thing.” Dean leaned forward to peck Sam’s lips. But Sam kissed back, feather light and addictive as hell, so Dean’s kiss lingered and deepened. Soon Sam was tilting his head to get a better angle, pushing his tongue past Dean’s lips. Dean wasn’t complaining. Swept up in Sam’s kiss, he’d forgotten they were in a crowded court of demons. A wolf whistle brutally reminded him, and he pulled away from Sam. 

Sam’s eyes flashed and turned yellow. A demon in the crowd disintegrated. Fucking hell. Demons were pretty much impossible to kill, and Sam had just willed it to happen with those burning yellow eyes. A whine slipped past Dean’s lips without his brain’s permission. That was so damn hot. 

Sam’s face was predatory as he zeroed in on Dean. He liked that whine. His glowing eyes burned challengingly into Dean’s. Sam’s clawed hands held Dean’s face, pulled him into a rough, passionate kiss. It was all dominance and pressure, Sam’s tongue deep down Dean’s throat. 

Sam broke the kiss. “I want to fuck you.”

“Here?!” 

“Yes,” Sam purred, “Here, with everyone watching.” 

Dean had known he kinda liked being watched, but he hadn’t expected the crazy wave of arousal from that idea. “Do it.” 

Sam yanked open Dean’s jeans and tore them off his body. Dean hadn’t bothered with underwear, so that left him half naked in front of a whole room full of demons who were watching him hungrily. And their king with the bright yellow eyes was about to fuck him. The most fun thing about it was that Dean had totally agreed to this thing that sounded like something from a horror movie. He was rock hard and willing as Sam forced him to his knees and pushed two slick fingers into his ass. It didn’t cut him, so Sam must’ve retracted his claws the moment he pushed into Dean, just to keep Dean from feeling pain. The king of hell cared about him. It was crazy to feel a power rush on his knees with fingers up his ass, but Dean was dizzy with a fucking power rush. 

“Relax,” Sam ordered. His claws dug into Dean’s back, and his fingers in Dean’s ass scissored him wide open. 

The fingers were gone a second later, and Sam’s cock thrust into Dean’s ass. He hadn’t prepped Dean enough, and it fucking hurt his hole. Dean was high on adrenaline, and pain just made everything sharper and got him even harder. Sam set a harsh, fast rhythm. He bent over Dean, nipping at Dean’s neck with his teeth as he fucked him. Teeth weren’t supposed to be so fucking sharp, so animalistic. 

Sam fucked Dean deeper, started to lose his rhythm. He fucking snarled in Dean’s ear and bit down hard on his neck. The pain pushed Dean over the edge, and he spilled his cum untouched on the floor of the crowded throne room. Sam came pretty quick after that, Dean’s ass clenching around his cock and pulling his orgasm from him. 

Dean would’ve dropped and landed in his cum, but Sam caught him and carried him up onto the throne. Dean was strung out on pleasure, lax in Sam’s arms. He was aware enough to think Sam’s show of strength in easily hauling him up there was pretty damn hot. 

“Are you bored now, Dean?” Sam teased. 

Dean snuggled his face into Sam’s shoulder. He should probably have been annoyed about being on Sam’s lap with all the demons watching, but dignity seemed pretty pointless after what they’d just done. “I’ll have to come to court with you more often.”

“Agreed,” Sam said. 


	20. xx

Sam was coughing. And coughing, and coughing, and coughing. He finally managed to stop after he gulped down a cup of water to settle his throat. 

“You sick or something?” Dean asked. It was just coughing, but it was worrying Dean. 

“Do you want crepes for dinner?” Sam asked. 

“How about pancakes,” Dean said, “Crepes are fucking weird.”

“They’re just thin pancakes you roll,” Sam said. 

“Normal pancakes,” Dean insisted. 

“Thick, unrollable crepes,” Sam said, as he washed his hands and started getting ingredients out. 

“Are you sick?” Dean asked. He wasn’t gonna get sidetracked that fucking easily. 

“I need to concentrate here, Dean,” Sam said. His black eyes flashed. He was being dumb, Dean knew that getting out measuring cups wasn’t a huge deal and didn’t require fuck tons of concentration. 

“Just answer the question,” Dean said. 

“Fucking drop it!” Sam snapped. 

Dean scowled. “So, you are sick. What’s the big deal?”

“Stop. Questioning. Me.” 

“Well, you stop being a fucking dick,” Dean said. 

Sam dropped the measuring cups. He threw Dean into the wall and got in his face. His eyes were scary. Empty, dark, unreadable. Dean really wished Sam would quit it with the demon blood. It was fucking turning him into a monster. 

“Sam-” 

“You don’t question me, bitch,” Sam said. His eyes bored into Dean. “I’m your king. You bow to me now.” 

“Fuck off,” Dean said. He was trying not to shake. The fuck was wrong with Sam?

Sam’s nails dug into Dean’s arm. Not claws, nails. Sam always had claws when Dean pissed him off. 

“I’m tryna help you, Sam,” Dean said, “Fuck. What happened to you?” 

Sam smacked Dean across the face and stormed out of the room. Dean heard him coughing and choking in the hallway. 

Dean made pancakes. He wasn’t as good at it as Sam, and they came out lumpy and burnt, but they were alright. He just needed a peace offering or shit like that. He’d figure it out. Sam would quit being a jerk, hopefully, and then everything would be ok. 

Dean had finished about half the pancakes when Sam finally came back into the kitchen. His face was pale and drawn, and Dean was caught between anger and worry. Sam might be a dick, but he wasn’t doing too well. And his eyes were hazel, so that was a good sign. Sam was generally sweet and decent when he had those cute, warm hazel eyes. 

“Hi, Dean,” Sam said. 

“Hey,” Dean grunted. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said, “I shouldn’t’ve brushed you off and yelled at you. You were right. I’m sick, and I don’t normally get sick. I don’t know what this is. It’s scaring me, and I didn’t want to talk about it. But that’s no excuse. I’m really, really sorry.” 

“You say sorry prettily and then you fucking go right back to being a jerk, Sam,” Dean said. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam repeated, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t normally act like this, but I’ve been being awful to you, and-”

“Oh, shut up and eat your fucking pancakes,” Dean said. 

Sam nodded. He grabbed some pancakes and dripped a bit of maple syrup on them. Dean turned off the stove when he finished the next pancake and sat down at the table with Sam. 

“You having any problems besides the coughing?” Dean asked. 

Sam hesitated. “No.” 

Dean glared at him. Sam was fucking keeping secrets again, and it was not cool. 

Sam swallowed. “I coughed up a bit of blood once, though,” he added. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean groaned, “Blood. You coughed up fucking blood.” 

“Only a couple drops,” Sam said. 

“Not fucking cool,” Dean said, “So you’re coughing up blood, drinking blood. You see a pattern?” 

“Demon blood isn’t like human blood,” Sam said, “It’s this oily black goo. I coughed up human blood, or my blood, human enough blood.”

Oily black goo. “Demon blood smell like something that died a week ago?” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, “How’d you know that, Dean?” 

“Found it on the ground that time I left you on the side of the road,” Dean said, “You know, when what happened was fucking ‘none of my business.’” 

“Somebody attacked me and forced demon blood down my throat,” Sam said, “I didn’t see who because, you know, I was blind. They cut me holding me down, and I thought my blood had washed away all the demon blood by the time you came back.”

Dean thought about what it would be like to be blind and abandoned, then attacked, injured, and made to drink disgusting gunk. He felt pretty fucking awful for abandoning Sammy. 

Sam finished his pancakes and got up. “I need to look at an artifact a crossroads demon brought in,” he said. 

“Right,” Dean said, “Later, then, Sammy.” 

Sam started walking out, stumbled, and caught himself on the doorframe. He rested there for a moment like he was exhausted before leaving. Dean was fucking worried as hell. 


	21. xxi

Dean drove Baby to court and went to find Sam. Sam was sitting in his throne, pale and tense. A creepy looking demon Dean didn’t know was standing awfully fucking close to him. Dean caught Sam’s eye. Somehow midnight black pools managed to express fear and pleading. He was getting better at reading Sam’s iris and white less eyes, and starting to get that Sam’s eyes were always emotional and expressive no matter what. It kinda helped him feel better about the demon blood. 

But this, this was bad. Sammy was scared. Dean walked over, trying to get a read on the situation. He had to figure out the best way to protect Sammy, and he was pretty sure that fucking Demon was what had Sammy so upset. Dean glared at

the demon. Nobody got to scare his Sammy. 

The demon looked at Dean like Dean was both chewed gum on the bottom of his shoe and somehow funny. “Really, Sam?” the demon asked, “Besides the plush lips and long eyelashes I don’t see the appeal. And he’s a bit old to be a good fuck toy.” 

“I’m not a fucking toy,” Dean snapped, “Who the fuck are you, anyway?”

“That’s Alistair, Dean,” Sam said. His voice was strained. 

Dean punched Alistair in the face. Alistair fucking laughed at him. Dean wanted to get out the holy water and the demon killing knife Sam had given him, but he wasn’t sure Sam would want him starting a fight. It was Sam’s territory. Dean wanted to gank Alistair so badly, though. 

“Alistair, go back to hell,” Sam said firmly, “I’m transferring Ryan to another torturer. Non negotiable.” 

Alistair didn’t look happy, but he left. 

Sam slumped in relief. 

“So that’s Alistair,” Dean said, “I fucking hate his guts.”

“I should kill him,” Sam said, “It would upset hell’s infrastructure, but I should still kill him.” 

“Totally agree with you there,” Dean said. 

Sam coughed. Deep, raspy coughs that didn’t stop for a while. 

“You sound awful,” Dean said, “You should, like, zap in a bottle of water.” 

“Tried,” Sam said. His voice was wrecked. “I can’t.” 

This wasn’t good. The kitchen was real fucking close to the throne room. Sam should be able to easily zap stuff at that range. “What’s up with you?” 

“Telekinesis won’t work at all,” Sam rasped. He was coughing again. 

Dean was torn. He kinda wanted to stick by Sam cuz he wasn’t ok, but… “I’mma go grab a water bottle,” Dean said, heading for the kitchen. 

Sam had a handful of blood when Dean got back. His lips were smeared red, and he was shaking. He coughed, a bit more blood coming up. 

Dean gave him the water. “Here, Sammy. Drink.” 

Sam sipped some water. “It’s the demon blood. I think it’s taking my power and making me sick.” 

“Stop drinking it then,” Dean said harshly. 

Sam slumped forward against Dean’s shoulder. “Good idea,” he said, “Take me home, Dean.” 

Dean had to fucking help Sam walk out to where he’d parked Baby. Thank god Sam was quitting the demon blood already. He was way too weak, it was scary as fuck. 

Dean undressed Sam when they got back to their room. He touched Sam gently and held him in bed for several hours until the demon blood stopped affecting him. Finally, the black in Sam’s eyes vanished, leaving yellow. His color came back, and his claws dug into Dean’s neck. Sam rolled on top of him, nipping and licking at Dean’s lips. It was distractingly weird, how Sam did it, but it was still erotic as hell. 

Sam was heavy, a crushing but comforting weight on Dean’s body. And Sam’s skin felt amazing against Dean’s. Sam rolled his hips, making their cocks rub together and Dean moan. Sam shut him up by pressing down harder on his throat. His claws were a painful sting on Dean’s skin. Fuck, it was good. Sam rutted down against Dean, and Dean reached up, tangling his fingers in Sam’s hair and tugging. Sam gasped softly. Dean tugged more harshly, and Sam’s rhythmic rutting stuttered for a moment as he moaned. 

He eased up on Dean’s throat, letting him breathe for a moment. He kissed Dean sloppily, still rutting slowly against him. Dean kissed back, putting a bit more passion into the kiss. He thrust up against Sam’s cock and jerked at his hair. Sam moaned against Dean’s mouth, and his hips sped up. 

They kissed passionately, spit trailing from their mouths when they broke for air. And they rutted against each other, getting harsher and wilder until they came, Sam first and Dean a few moments later. Sam was strong enough to clean them up with his powers, and they curled up together. Sam napped and Dean played with his silky, pullable hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fifteen minutes to Christmas! I should really go to sleep already. I have to be up at eight, and I’m exhausted from all the Christmas Eve stuff already. But Christmas! It’s so close to midnight!


	22. xxii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are 69 comments on this story.

“You remember our stalker?” Sam was lying with his head on Dean’s chest. 

“The creepy ass witch who we thought was Jess?”

“Yeah. I was just thinking that some of the demons know witchcraft,” Sam said, “A couple of them, like Ruby, were even witches back when they were human.” 

“Ruby.” Ruby was fucking creepy. The way she’d looked at him that first time Sam had black eyes. “Didn’t you say something about Ruby when you were talking about how you’d started demon blood?” 

“Maybe,” Sam said. 

“I think the witch is Ruby,” Dean said. 

“No,” Sam said, “Ruby wouldn’t stalk me. She’s my friend.” 

“You sure about that?” 

“Dean, Ruby’s more loyal to me than anyone,” Sam said, “It’s somebody else.”

Dean did not agree. “What if we just check,” he said, “If she has nothing to do with it, we won’t find anything, simple as that.” 

“You’re being ridiculous, Dean,” Sam said, “Ruby’s my friend. We don’t spy on each other. It might be a demon who knows magic, but it’s not her.” 

Sam wouldn’t budge, and Dean ended up dropping the topic. It was fucking frustrating, since he could see Ruby was suspicious as hell, but Sam wouldn’t see it and there was nothing Dean could do on his own. Although he did still have the demon knife. Was massively pissing off and maybe hurting Sam worth it to kill the bitch? Hafta think on that one. 

It might help Sam more overall. He shouldn’t trust his creepy demon stalker, that was wrong. And Sammy was Dean’s little brother. He had to protect him. Ruby was planning who knows what, and with Sam trusting her that much he’d be totally exposed to whatever she wanted. 

OK, time to kill Ruby. Dean would figure everything out afterwards. Maybe he’d tell Sam, maybe he’d keep it a secret. Sam didn’t have to know it was him, and it might be better that way. Anybody could’ve killed Ruby. With how fucking protective Sam was of her, Dean had better keep it a secret. 

He needed to find Ruby. She’d pop up eventually in Sam’s court, but then Sam would know Dean had been near her when she died. Better he not know anything. Where was she when she wasn’t at court? He’d been at court with Sam a lot, and Ruby popped in a lot, but nowhere near all the time. Sam gave her missions sometimes, but most of the time she was just off doing who knows what. 

How would Dean find a demon? Library. There’d be answers in the fucking library. Dean prepared himself for a long and boring day. He forced himself to concentrate, reminded himself that he was doing this to keep Sammy safe. It was super important. Luckily, answers were in chapter four of one of the books lying out on Sam’s desk. There was a spell, but it wasn’t too complicated and he figured he could rig something up. 

Sam had shown him the spell room when he gave Dean the house tour back on Monday. He’d been so cute, rambling on all excited and nerdy about spell ingredients, organization, how stuff interacted, what it did. Dean hadn’t taken too much in, but he knew where Sam kept all the things he’d need for the spell to track down Ruby. 

The spell worked, the dot of fire on the map lighting up a house maybe a twenty minute drive from Sam and Dean’s house. Dean could find that. He didn’t want Baby too close, since things might get messy and she wasn’t stealthy. He hated driving other cars, but he drove Baby to a safe spot, stole a car, and drove the piece of shit car to the house Ruby was at. 

It was empty. Shit. She must’ve left, or the spell hadn’t worked. He hoped it was the first, cuz he knew the spell decently and it’d be easy to repeat. Dean checked the place over thoroughly, just in case Ruby was hiding or some shit. She wasn’t, but he did find some pretty fucking interesting things. A book, open to a page talking about how demon blood strengthened humans, unless the human already had fully developed demonic powers. Then it’d make them sick if it wasn’t from the same level demon as the one they’d got their powers from. Sam was fucking poisoning himself without even knowing it. 

Dean slammed the book shut, furious. He was almost sure Ruby had started Sam on the demon blood, and she’d obviously known it would hurt him. The bitch had hurt his Sammy on fucking purpose, and Sam trusted her. Dean was gonna track her down and yank her innards out her ass. 

A journal Dean found made him even angrier. Ruby was writing down things she’d seen, things Sam and Dean had been doing every damn time Sam had felt that creepy presence. She also wrote about things she’d openly been there for, talking about Sam in a creepy way. Talking about his body, his weaknesses she could exploit, how to manipulate him, how he’d felt inside her. 

“Son of a bitch!” 

Sam and Ruby? Why the fuck hadn’t Sam thought to mention that!? He’d fucked her. When was this? Ruby kinda sounded like she was talking about past things, so Sam probably hadn’t cheated on Dean. He’d just defended his ex to Dean and not felt it was fucking worth it to bother mentioning she was his ex. 

_ the fuck didn’t u tell me u and ruby had fucked for _

Dean texted Sam angrily as he stormed out of Ruby’s house and drove his stolen car back to where he’d left Baby. 

_ It didn’t seem important. _

It didn’t seem  _ important _ !? Sam had fucked super creepy demon Ruby and it didn’t seem important?! That morning when they’d been fucking talking about Ruby would’ve been a great time to bring something like that up. Not letting Dean find out from reading Ruby’s fucking journal on how it felt to get fucked by Sam. Fucking hell!

Sam had sent him another text. 

_ She was my rebound after Jess. We were only together for a few weeks; it didn’t mean anything.  _

A few weeks. How many weeks had Sam and Dean been together? Two? It wasn’t much. Was  _ Dean _ fucking nothing to Sam? Cuz it sure as hell sounded like it. 

_ fuck u Sammy  _

_ Dean, you can’t get mad at me for having exes. You’re being unreasonable. You have exes, too.  _

_ not ones I regularly work with an see and have as ‘friends’ Sammy it’s real fucking different _

_ Ruby and I were friends for years, together for less than a month, and we didn’t work out. That smidgeon of dating we did hasn’t affected our relationship in the slightest since then. I’m telling you, Dean, Ruby doesn’t mean anything to me romantically.  _

Years of friendship, and even then since it was just a short bit of time it didn’t mean a fucking thing to Sam. Longer, it sounded, than what Sam and Dean had. Sam was gonna fucking dump him when he got bored in a bit, wasn’t he. Ruby wasn’t over Sam, so he’d probably ditched her. He’d dumped Jess, and they’d been together for way, way longer. It was hopeless. 

Dean scowled down at the messages from Sam and switched his phone off. He’d heard fucking plenty. 


	23. xxiii

The spell tracked Ruby to a cemetery in fucking Wyoming. Dean had no clue why Ruby would be all the way in Wyoming, but he headed there. A couple hours later a man appeared out of nowhere on the road in front of Dean, making him slam on the brakes to avoid running the guy over. What the fuck? How had Dean not seen such a tall guy walk into the middle of the fucking road? A really tall guy, with long brown hair and bright yellow eyes.

Dean pulled over, parked, and got out. “Sam. The fuck do you want?” 

“The fuck do  _ I _ want?! What do you think I want! First, you’re irrationally jealous of Ruby, of all people, then you’re not texting back, not answering my calls, not at our house! I tried to give you space, and then you left the state! What the fuck are you doing, Dean?!” Sam had backed Dean up as he yelled, and by the time he’d finished Dean was stuck leaning back over Baby’s hood while Sam shouted inches away from his face. 

Sam’s eyes burned into Dean as he struggled to come up with a response. “Umm… Can you- can you not-” Sam was so hot when he was angry, but Dean was trying to be mad at him, trying not to get hard, not spread his legs and try to convince Sam to have angry sex. 

“What is your problem?!” Sam demanded.

Sam was so mad. Dean bit back a moan and shifted uncomfortably under him. What was Sam mad about? Oh, right. “I was just going for a drive,” Dean said. 

“And why the fuck was your phone off?” Sam leaned down farther, so his body pressed against Dean’s. 

Dean moaned. 

Confusion flashed across Sam’ face, and he rolled his hips down against Dean’s swollen cock. Dean couldn’t hold back another breathy moan. 

“Will you  _ stop it _ , I’m trying to have an argument, Dean!” 

“Sam,” Dean moaned. 

“Fuck you!” Sam said. He was so mad. His eyes were burning, making Dean feel helpless and insignificant under them. His cheeks were flushed with anger. He was so fucking hot. 

“Please do,” Dean said. 

Sam growled. “Fine,” he snapped. He took Dean’s face in his hands and smashed their lips together. Dean whined. He pushed upward, pressing himself against Sam, clinging to him and trying to pull him closer. Sam yanked back from him. His claws shredded and tore at Dean’s pants. Dean moaned, writhed. Sam’s claws tore into his skin, the pain making everything sharper and brighter. 

Sam finished destroying Dean’s pants and underwear and yanked off his own. He spat onto his fingers and his hand, grabbed Dean’s legs and pushed them up. The exposure of being half naked on Baby’s hood, legs not touching the ground and Sam’s claws digging into his bare, scored thighs was a dizzy rush for Dean. He moaned and spread his legs wide for Sam. 

Sam slathered Dean’s hole with spit and shoved two fingers inside Dean’s willing body. Dean’s hole stung, not enough to hurt but enough to get him excited. He whined and rocked back onto Sam’s fingers. Sam scissored him open, pushing with his strong, thick fingers. 

“Relax, or this will hurt,” Sam ordered. 

Dean relaxed his ass. Sam’s fingers yanked out, stinging Dean’s hole from the lack of lube. Sam rewet them in his mouth, those fingers that had been in Dean sliding between Sam’s thin lips. Three fingers shoved their way into Dean’s body. He moaned helplessly from the pain of it. His hole stretched out quickly, squelching around Sam’s fingers. Sam’s fingers slipped out. 

Dean had just enough time to feel horribly open and empty inside before Sam’s thick cock thrust into his hole. Sam’s thrust was deep and hard, getting all the way inside. Dean’s hole clenched around him, struggling desperately to adjust to his size. 

Sam ran his fingers through Dean’s sweaty hair. Dean looked up into his yellow eyes, a bit confused. Fucking why wasn’t he moving? 

“Move already,” Dean grunted. 

Sam pulled out most of the way and slammed back inside. 

Dean moaned and panted. 

Sam stayed fucking still. 

Dean whined unhappily. Sam was the most ridiculous tease. Who had the fucking self control for a stunt like this? 

“You’re scared,” Sam said, “Scared you won’t measure up to Ruby?” Hard yellow eyes glared down at Dean. 

“You want to talk about this now?” Dean asked. He clenched his ass, trying to get Sam to fucking  _ move _ . 

“You wanted me to fuck you while we fought,” Sam said, “I’m fucking you.” He pulled out and thrust back in. “We’re still fighting. I want you to never turn off your cell phone to stay away from me again.”

“Yes, fine, I won’t,” Dean babbled, “Just move!” 

Sam thrust again. “But you don’t think I’ll leave you for Ruby. You’re just an idiot, you’re not  _ that _ stupid.”

“I’m not a fucking idiot,” Dean gasped. 

“Yes, you are.” Sam thrust into Dean’s hole, and Dean moaned. 

Dean felt like Sam’s eyes were burning into his soul. 

“You think I’ll leave you, just to leave you,” Sam said. His cock thrust into Dean’s ass again. “You swore eternity to me.” He thrust, and they both moaned, Dean’s loud and slutty while Sam’s moan was low, barely there. “I swore eternity to you.” Another thrust, deep, so deep. “Even if you run from me, I’ll hunt you down and drag you back.” Thrust. “Even when you die, you’ll still be mine.” Thrust, harsh and fast and leaving Dean a moaning, writhing mess. “Forever.” Thrust. “Mine.” Thrust. 

“Oh god, yes, Sam, please!” Dean begged. 

Sam fucked him in earnest, then, hard and deep until they both came. He flopped down beside Dean and attached his mouth to Dean’s neck, nipping sharply and then sucking hard. Dean just lay there contentedly. Sam swapped to the other side of Dean’s neck and repeated the process, bruising Dean’s skin and giving him a hell of a hickey. 

“You’re marking me up now?” Dean said. 

“I shredded your pants. You’re going to wear mine.” 

“Should I get a collar with a tag saying I’m ‘property of Sam Winchester’?” Dean asked. 

Sam’s hand wrapped around the amulet he’d given Dean. Dean had never taken it off, not even to shower. “This works for that.” 


	24. xxiv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff took longer than I’d expected, so no Sam in this chapter. Sorry.

Calvary Cemetery was a small graveyard Dean found maybe a minute after he drove Baby over a set of train tracks. It was long abandoned, and Dean didn’t know what Ruby wanted with it until he found a small stone building with huge double doors open wide on blackness. Weird blackness. Icky, smoky, moving darkness, like a demon with no meat suit. It was fucking creepy as hell. Dean was sure Ruby was through there. 

He should’ve turned around, headed back, and found Ruby some other day when she was somewhere normal. He started to, but he didn’t. He went back to his car, got a flashlight, and just came right back to the building and that fucking awful door. Dean stepped into the building, and darkness surrounded him, choked him. 

He felt like a harsh wind was blowing at him from every direction, and he couldn’t feel ground under his feet. He kicked, and opened his mouth to scream. Darkness poured in down his throat, it was everywhere. He couldn’t breathe. Dean lashed out with the demon knife in a panic. He could feel it cut something, but everything around him was smoke. 

Dean slashed and slashed, and the darkness eased. He could breathe, and feel something under his feet. A squishy, unsteady ground. Red was the first thing he could see. There was red all around him. Red, shot through with black. There was a huge spider web of black ropes all above him, going up and to the sides until the red mist hanging fucking everywhere made it so he couldn’t see them. 

The ropes were fucking gross, too. Covered in slime, rotted and bloodied. There were even bits of flesh stuck to some of them. Dean looked down to see what the floor was. Bloody, torn human flesh. Dean was real fucking grateful he hadn’t wasted time on dinner. It would’ve come up. 

Dean didn’t want to stand on the flesh, but he didn’t want to touch the ropes, either. Ruby was hopefully up there, though. Dean grabbed the nearest rope. “Gross,” he said. He started climbing up the icky ropes. This place was the worst. 

Distance was hard to judge in a rope filled nightmare of blood red mist, and Dean had no fucking clue how far he’d climbed when he spotted somebody above him. He kept climbing. Thank fuck, it was Ruby. Now he just had to stab her and find the fucking exit. 

“Hey, Dean.” Her smile was fucking creepy. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Oh, you have, have you,” Dean said, “Where the fuck are we, anyway?” 

“Hell,” Ruby said. 

“Hell,” Dean repeated. 

“Do you always repeat whatever the other person says?” Ruby asked, “That’d be why everyone knows how dumb you are.” 

Dean was looking forward to getting close enough to stab her. She was sitting there casually, assured. She didn’t know he had anything that could hurt her. 

“You said you were expecting me,” Dean said, “Why.” 

Ruby shrugged gracefully. “I was just told you’d be here.”

Dean figured she was fucking lying. If she wasn’t then her story made no fucking sense, cuz he was just here cuz she was. He sat uncomfortably on the rope next to her, balancing carefully and holding on. He did not want to fall all that way into the flesh puddle. 

“The fuck do you want from me?” Dean asked. This was throwing him off. 

Ruby lashed out at him with a knife. Dean had been too busy planning to stab her, and she got him on the side of his face. They both froze for a second as his blood splattered onto the ropes and fell down towards the ground. 

“It was supposed to work!” Ruby yelled furiously. 

Dean didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but Ruby was distracted. He could use that. He whipped out the demon knife, and her eyes bugged out. 

“Is that the blade I gave-” 

Dean stabbed her just then, right in the chest. She choked as blood soaked her shirt. 

“-Sam,” she finished. Her body lit up yellow and orange as she tensed, the colors dying out as she slumped, dead. 

Dean jerked the knife out of her chest, and Ruby’s body fell down into the red mist under them. The ropes shook like an earthquake had just happened. Dean grabbed on frantically and held on for dear life as the world around him shook violently.


	25. xxv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta warn for abuse in this chapter. Sam continues his pattern of taking out his panic, stress and anger on Dean.

Sam appeared next to Dean on the slimy guck ropes in hell. “What happened? What are you doing here?” he asked. 

Dean looked up at him. “I have no fucking clue,” he said. 

Sam looked around, and his face turned ashen. With the bright yellow eyes and the nightmarish background, he looked horribly inhuman. “You broke the first seal,” he whispered, “I thought-” 

“I did what?” Dean asked. 

“The- the seal. You shed blood in- WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN HELL IN THE FIRST PLACE?!” Sam was suddenly in Dean’s face. Glowing eyes, a hand way too tight on his throat, Sam’s knee digging painfully into his ribs. Dean wasn’t holding on anymore, and he didn’t know how Sam was holding them up. 

Dean couldn’t exactly say anything. He choked, clutching at Sam’s hand and trying to loosen it. Sam wouldn’t ease up. Dean couldn’t get any air at all, and Sam wouldn’t let go. He was yelling, and Dean’s head was spinning so he couldn’t really understand. Blood, seals, something about a cage and the devil. Something. Righteousness, a prophecy, failure, all Dean’s fault. It went on for a really long time, and none of it made sense. 

Dean’s eyes had stopped working, and he’d been about to just fucking pass out when Sam finally let go. Dean started to fall off the rope, and Sam caught him by the ankle, held him there instead of pulling him up. Dean was crying, his head hurt like hell. The fuck was Sam on about? 

“Stop,” Dean whispered. His voice was hoarse, and it hurt to talk. Why was Sam doing this? 

“Whose blood did you shed, righteous man?” Sam’s voice was mocking and cold as ice. 

Dean had no clue what the fuck Sam was on about. He whimpered and tried to grab onto a rope. It didn’t work. His breathing sped up from terror, making his bruised throat hurt worse. He was dangling over an abyss, so high up. He’d climbed really far, and if he fell down all that way… he could fucking die, real easily. He was paralyzed. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, there was so much space under him. The mist had made it easy to ignore how high he was on the way up, and he just hadn’t looked down. This was absolutely terrifying. 

“Answer the question,” Sam said. 

What? Dean whined, high and fearful. There was no way he could think about anything but all that space under him he could just drop into. “Ohgodpleasedon’t d-drop me,” Dean stammered in a panic. He was shaking, tense, he couldn’t fucking breathe. 

Sam pulled him up. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean whimpered. He was clinging to Sam, grabbing onto him hard enough to bruise, hiding his face in Sam’s shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut to block out the horror. 

They were still so high up. Dean was horribly conscious of the drop. He couldn’t think about anything else. He was so, so scared. 

“Shouldn’t’ve hurt you like that,” Sam mumbled. His fingers carded through Dean’s hair. It was soothing, but Dean was still freaking the fuck out. They were massively high up, and Dean was sitting on Sam, who felt pretty stable, but Sam was sitting on a fucking rotten rope that could break any fucking minute! 

“We’ve gotta go down,” Dean stammered, “Zap us down! So we can’t- can’t- can’t fall.” 

“Tell me first whose blood you spilled,” Sam said. 

They weren’t going down. Dean was stuck up in the air, on the ropes, and they could fall, all that way. “Ruby!” he yelped, “Ruby, ok? Can we fucking go down now?”

“Ruby.” Sam’s hand stopped stroking Dean’s hair. 

Dean felt like crying. 

“Did you kill her?” Sam asked. 

Dean flinched at the ice in Sam’s voice. “Yeah. She was manipulating you. She knew the blood would make you sick.” 

Sam was silent for a bit. Dean tried not to think about how high up they were and how mad Sam was. As long as Sam didn’t dangle him over the empty air again, it’d be ok. Right? Right. Dean wasn’t crying. At all. 

“I’m going to knock you out, take you back to earth, and tie you up so you can’t cause any more damage. Clear?” 

Dean nodded. Sam was taking him away from the nightmare ropes way up in the not-sky. He was cool with it. Sam knocking him out just felt like he got really tired and fell asleep all of a sudden. 


	26. xxvi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk if this is any good, but I'm tired and my head hurts so I don't care

Dean was alone in his and Sam’s bedroom when he woke up. He wasn’t all that surprised. Sam had been really angry, and that was before he found out Dean had killed Ruby. Sam must be so pissed at him. Dean would worry about that later. He’d killed Ruby, so that was good, and he was back on earth, also good. This’d work out. 

Sam had said something about tying him up, but Dean was perfectly free. Whatever. Maybe Sam had calmed down enough to not wanna tie him up. He did notice changes in the house. The knives were missing, for starters. That wasn’t really fair. Dean had just used the fancy demon killing knife to do stuff Sam didn’t want, not the steak knife or the little vegetable cutting knives. The guns were gone too, and really anything that could be used as a weapon. It fucking sucked, but he did get it. 

Dean would just drive Baby somewhere with weapons and bring them back. Not having weapons was just a bit annoying, not a long term problem. He opened the front door and tried to step out onto the patio. And tried. Dammit, the fuck had Sam done to his legs? They wouldn’t move to get him out of the house no matter what he fucking did. He tried the back door and failed just as much. 

Maybe Sam had missed the second floor windows. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible. Mr. Perfectionist could mess shit up sometimes, right? Dean popped open a window and tried to climb out onto the roof. Didn’t work. Fuck. What was he supposed to do now? 

He’d text Sam, but would that be stupid? They’d been fighting and then Sam left, so maybe he wanted space or some shit like that. Dean was gonna text him anyway. There was fuck all to do in the house, and Sam could always ignore Dean if he wanted. He was too fucking good at that. 

_ hi _

_ Hey, Dean. _

Oh, cool. Dean had been expecting Sam to ignore him or take a bit to answer. It was almost like he’d been watching his phone for Dean to text he was so fast with that response. 

_ How mad are you? _

Dean blinked at that, confused. 

_ how mad r U _

_ I’m not anymore. My temper blows over pretty quickly. Dean, I’m sorry I hurt you, again.  _

Dean felt annoyed. The fuck was the point of Sam always apologizing for hurting him if he was just gonna do it again anyway? It just made it hurt worse if Sam was fucking ‘sorry’ the rest of the time. 

_ fuck u sam ur always fucking sory  _

It took Sam a minute to respond. 

_ This isn’t what I wanted for us. I thought we’d be happy together. Everything got so messy, so fast _

_ quit bein a fucking asshole then sam _

_ I’m sorry. I’ll try to fix myself. I really don’t want to be someone who’d get angry and hurt you.  _

_ u need a fucking therapist so get won already sammy  _

_ Oh, sure, because that’s possible. I’m sure I can find a therapist who will sit there and listen while I talk about being raised by literal demons and becoming the boy-king and not have me committed. That’s totally possible!  _

_ no need to be a bitch about it _

Sam didn’t text back. Probably for the best. Dean was getting hungry and needed to figure out what was edible with no knives and no leaving the fucking house. Cooking. Ugh. At least it was less boring than researching shit. If Dean could do that, he could cook no problem. Dean made sandwiches. The bread was super messy cuz he didn’t have a knife to cut it with. Basically, the sandwiches tasted fine but looked like shit. They worked. 

What was Dean gonna do for however many hours until Sam got back? Lounge in bed watching tv and eating chips, it turned out. Nothing else to do, really. It was fine for one afternoon, gave him a break. It was even kinda fun. 

Sam got back. He sat down next to Dean, sorta hesitant and a little ways away. His smile was pretty fucking hesitant, too. 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said casually. He sat up and rested his arm on Sam’s shoulders. 

That got rid of the fear in Sam’s pretty hazel eyes. Dean felt better. He couldn’t stand Sammy being upset and worried. Better to just act like everything was fine, cuz everything would be fine if they both pretended it was. Yeah. That worked. 

Sam leaned over, kissed Dean soft and sweet. “What are you watching?” 

Dean quickly changed the channel, then changed it back. No real point to hiding it. “Dr. Sexy MD.” The dude who’d talked him into wearing makeup to their wedding wasn’t gonna judge him for watching a cheesy soap. 

“You think he’s hot,” Sam accused teasingly. 

“How’d you know?” Dean squawked. 

“Your face gives you away, Dean,” Sam said, “So what’s hot about him?” 

Dean did not blush. “Cowboy boots.” 

“Cowboy boots, huh?” Sam smirked. 

The rest of the night was like that. Lighthearted teasing about bad tv shows and movies while they stayed away from the stuff they probably should discuss but wanted to avoid. Sam fell asleep with his head on Dean’s shoulder sometime after ten. Dean didn’t sleep for a while. 


	27. xxvii

Dean was going stir crazy, locked up in Sam’s house. It was a nice place, but he was starting to really fucking hate it. Staying in one place was just awful, and the fact that he  _ couldn’t leave  _ was constantly burning at Dean’s brain. He hated it. But how was he supposed to get out? 

Dean could smash his way through a physical barrier, but magic mind powers were just not his thing. And Sam fucking knew that, the bastard. All he knew about Sam’s creepy mind control was that one time he’d frozen Dean and Dean had apparently gotten out of it by kissing Sam. Maybe he should try that. Except they’d kissed several times since Sam put the damn barriers up, and Dean was still fucking stuck. 

What had Sam said that night? Dean got out cuz he did something Sam wanted? The fuck did Sam want now? What was the point of keeping Dean locked up like a grounded teen? To keep him from doing anything else Sam didn’t like. Like killing his friends and starting the apocalypse. 

Those were things to not do, not anything Dean could do to get out of the house. So what could he do that Sam wanted that had something to do with keeping Dean locked up? Dean had no fucking clue. Sam had seemed to want Dean more involved with his job. He’d called Dean to court a lot, been a bit disappointed when Dean didn’t pay attention to the political garbage, tried to keep Dean there longer, etc. So maybe if Dean tried to look up current hell politics he’d get out? It was a long shot, but Dean would do fucking anything to get out of the damn house. 

He went to the library and tried to figure out how it was organized. Date. It was organized by date published. Or at least the bit of it Dean had checked was. Fucking hell, this was a nightmare. How was he supposed to sort through a library with such a useless organization thing going on? This was fucking impossible. Dean had no clue what books had been published when. 

Dean picked out a book at random. The title wasn’t English. The text wasn’t either. Dean put the book back. After a couple of language fails and a couple books that were so boring Dean just gave up within two minutes, Dean decided that a break was in order. 

He meandered around the library and found something minorly interesting. A big, red box, sealed shut with a fuck ton of tape. Had Sam taken the scissors when he’d removed every fucking weapon from the house? He hadn’t; Dean found a pair in a desk drawer. 

Dean slit open the megatons of tape and pulled the box open to reveal books. Fucking books. Of fucking course it would be more books, it was in the library. Why were these books in a box, super taped shut, though? None of the others were: they were all on bookshelves. 

Dean picked one up, flipped open to the first page.  _ Property of Jessica Moore _ , it said. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said. Why the fuck did Sam have a box of his dead ex’s books coated in tape in his library? Was he still that fucking attached to her? 

That book might just happen to have been Jess’, though. Maybe she gave it to Sam or forgot it at his place and there was some other reason these books were boxed off by themselves. Dean didn’t wanna judge Sam until he’d checked the rest of the books to make sure they were all Jess’. 

The next book he picked up also had Jess’ name on it. And the next. The one after that, though, said  _ For Jess. I hope you’ll find it useful. -Your Sam.  _ Fucking hell. Sam had fucking gifted that book to Jess. And he’d fucking called himself hers. Fucking  _ hers! _

Dean knew it was stupid. He was being a jealous bitch over Sam’s ex. Ex. Past. Everybody had past lovers. He wasn’t Sam’s first anything. Dean knew that. He really did. It was fine, it was totally fine. Fucking why did Sam have that book? The fuck was it anyway? Dean kinda wanted to know what kinda gifts Sam used to give Jess. 

It was a book about how to use magic without demons. How to break a demon’s power over you, how demon deals worked, how magic worked. How to be a witch without a demon owning your soul, basically. Jess had been the kind of witch whose soul was owned by a demon. Sam had been trying to teach her how to get out of it? It fit with the Sam Dean knew. 

He brought the book over to the couch and started reading, curious. 

“Hi, Dean.” 

Dean jumped, yelping and almost dropping his book. “Sam. Fucking make noise when you move.”

Sam snorted. “I did, Dean. You were just oblivious.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at your court?” Dean asked. 

“Not anymore,” Sam said, “You know it’s evening, right?” 

Dean shook his head. “It’s like one, maybe. Why am I so hungry? Did I fucking read that whole time?” 

“You hate reading,” Sam said, “What book-? Oh.” 

Dean was confused. “How the fuck did I read that long?”

Sam sat down next to him. “There’s a spell on that book,” he said, “I put it there. It makes you read it.” 

“You gave your girlfriend an enchanted book?” Dean asked, “Dick move, dude.” 

“She needed to read it,” Sam said calmly, stretching. 

“You can be a real asshole sometimes,” Dean said. 

Sam shrugged. “Jess sold her soul for her magic. I couldn’t break her deal, so I tried to help her break it. She didn’t want to put the work in to do it. I cared about her soul, so I tried to make her. Didn’t end up working.” 

“Jess could make her own fucking decisions,” Dean said. 

“It was one minor spell,” Sam said, “Well, that particular time it was one minor spell. I made her read a book, Dean. What’s the harm?” 

“It’s not the fucking book that’s the problem, Sam,” Dean said, “It’s the  _ make _ . You treat your lovers like trash. You put spells on Jess, hit me, lock me in your fucking house. How can you think this is ok?”

Sam inspected his fingernails. “You know what? I’m hungry. I’m gonna go make dinner.” He got up. 

“Fuck you, Sammy,” Dean said. 

Sam scowled at Dean and stormed out of the room. 

Dean huffed and went back to his spelled book. It was pretty fucking interesting, after all. It turned out he hadn’t been too far from the end. Dean finished the book and headed into the kitchen to check on Sam. Sam was chopping fruit for a smoothie. He’d already made pizza, and Dean could see something else was in the oven. 

“Are you trying to bribe me to forgive you with food?” Dean asked, taking a slice of pizza. 

“If I was, would it be working?” Sam asked. 

Dean took a bite of pizza and considered. It was good pizza. Too much green shit on it, though. “You’re keeping me prisoner here,” Dean said, “So no, Sammy. It’s not fucking working.” 

Sam sighed. He chopped more fruit and whizzed it in the food processor with some yoghurt. 

Dean ate pizza. He was sort of considering forgiving Sam, but he knew it was a bad idea. Nothing had changed, so Sam would just keep doing the same shit to him over and over if Dean kept forgiving him. 

Sam finished making the smoothie and brought it to the table, sitting down to eat with Dean. Dean noticed Sam only ate one cup of smoothie. He took a piece of pizza, but he only ate one bite. His fingers tapped against the table, constant, nervous movements. 

“The fuck is up with you?” Dean asked. 

“Nothing,” Sam said.

“Seriously, dude,” Dean said. 

“I should check the pie,” Sam said, standing abruptly. 

“Pie?” That thoroughly distracted Dean. 

If the pizza had been good, the pie was incredible. Dean loved it. 


	28. xxviii

Sam fell asleep early that night, his head pillowed on Dean’s chest while Dean played with his hair. Dean got bored and scooted out from under Sam maybe ten minutes after he’d dropped off, long enough that it wouldn’t wake him up. So, what to do with Sam out? It wasn’t like Dean could go to sleep for a good while yet. 

He found himself in the library, back by that enchanted book. It wasn’t gonna keep making him read now that he’d finished it, right? He picked it up, flipped through it, set it back down. Phew, that coulda been bad. What else was in that box? 

Sam hadn’t moved it or closed it, so Dean just grabbed the next book. A few books in a row were fiction that didn’t catch Dean’s eye, but then there was a navy blue book called  _ A Beginner’s Guide to Fighting Demons _ . That could be useful. 

There was writing on the first page again, in Sam’s handwriting.  _ It’s not enchanted, babe, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to you after seeing how much it bothered you before. -Sam _ So Jess had had similar problems with what Sam had done. He still thought and acted the same way, so nothing she had tried with him to make him see what an asshole he was being had worked. 

Dean found himself turning the page, starting to read the book. He read for a bit and got tired. But he couldn’t stop. It was too interesting. Dean read and read as the evening grew later, until he fell asleep in the library, the book still open in his hands. 

Dean’s neck fucking hurt. His whole body ached, he was slumped awkwardly on a hard surface. What the fuck? He wasn’t hungover, so how had he ended up sleeping in the library? The fuck was he doing in the library in the first place?

His eyes fell on the book. The fucking book that Sam had promised Jess wasn’t spelled to force her to read it. The fucking bitch had lied. Least Dean knew Sam didn’t think any less of him than his other lovers, since he apparently lied to them all equally. What an asshole. 

Dean was going to fucking give Sam a taste of his own medicine. After he had breakfast, he was gonna do as much fucking research as he had to to find a spell that’d make Sam read some awful book he’d hate. Dean ate a breakfast Sam had left for him, and then he started looking online for a book Sam the book lover would hate having to read. 

Dean knew fuck all about books, but there was a book all the critics he found seemed to hate, a gooey romance with sparkly vampires. Hopefully Sam would hate it. It was nearly 550 pages long, too, so Sam would get to suffer through teen romance for a while. Dean ordered it to be delivered to his front door, since thanks to Sam that was as far as he could fucking go. 

Now Dean just needed to find the fucking spell Sam had used. It was in a book on the shelf Sam kept all his favorites on. Convenient. Dean got the ingredients ready for when the book would show up. Sam showed up first. With black eyes. 

“The fuck happened to you not drinking demon blood?” Dean asked, “That shit’s poisoning you!” 

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” Sam said. 

“I’m coming,” Dean said. 

“I’m leaving the house for this walk,” Sam said. 

“So let me out of the fucking house!” 

“No,” Sam said, “You’re staying here. You started the seals breaking, Dean, and you killed Ruby. I’m done with hunters causing trouble.” 

“Other hunters have been bothering you?” Dean asked. 

“It’s none of your business, Dean, since you obviously don’t care,” Sam snapped, storming out of the library. Dean heard the door to outside slam behind Sam. Fucker got to go outside. How the fuck was that fair? 

Dean stewed for a while until Sam got back. Dean made an attempt to smile at him, not wanting another fight. “So. What happened at court today?” 

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said, “Another seal broke. I had to torture and murder the demons who broke it right in front of the rest of court. I never hands on torture people, because it reminds me of Alistair torturing me, but this needed to be graphic. I hung the broken bodies up as a warning, and now my throne room smells like dead demons. And even the bodies aren’t dissuading the demons from keeping breaking seals, so soon I’m gonna hafta deal with Lucifer. And guess how many demons will be loyal to me when he’s around? Zero. So work was great, Dean, just fucking great. And get this- demon blood’s addictive. Who knew. So now I’m a junky on top of that, and you’re mad at me, and- and-” Sam was trying really hard not to cry. 

Dean patted Sam on the back, and then Sam was hugging him and shaking. 

“It’s ok, Sammy,” Dean said, hugging him back. He’d have to pay more attention, notice shit like this before Sam got this stressed out. He couldn’t let his Sammy get hurt. 


	29. xxix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s short, and unedited. Lemme know if there are any mistakes.   
> Long day. Lots of walking, and forgetting to bring food.

Dean felt sorta bad, plotting to use a spell on Sammy while he was this stressed and overloaded, but it wasn’t like anything had changed. Sammy was still an asshole, just a cute, stressed out asshole that Dean needed to protect. He was gonna use the spell. It wasn’t like it was gonna hurt him. 

The book came two days after Dean ordered it. It looked promising. An angsty, whiny bland teen was drooling over a scowly guy while a chatterbox squealed about how hot he was. Awful. Dean hoped it was that bad all the way through, he’d only skimmed a page from the middle. 

He did the spell on the book, then set it aside carefully to keep from having to read it himself. Dean left the book on Sam’s desk. Sam would spot it the next time he went into the library. As long as he picked it up and started reading, he’d get stuck. 

Dean smiled at Sam when he got home that evening. Sammy had no idea what Dean had planned. 

“Hi, Dean,” Sam said cheerfully, “What’s the smile for?” 

“Oh, nothing,” Dean said, “Wanna watch tv before dinner?” 

“Sure,” Sam said, “I’ll go grab a book.” 

Sam always did that. He liked spending time with Dean, but he wanted to watch the most boring shit imaginable. Their compromise was watching stuff Dean liked while Sam read a book. He’d watch occasionally if he was tired, but normally it was a great way to send Sam to the library. 

Sam meandered into the living room several minutes later, nose buried in the book. He looked a bit upset. “I’ll just read this, I guess.” Poor little Sammy was confused as fuck. He hadn’t expected Dean to spell him, apparently. 

Dean smirked and turned the tv on. 

Sam finally spoke twenty minutes later. “You spelled this.” He was still reading. He looked furious and disgusted. It might’ve been threatening, but nobody looked threatening with their nose literally stuck in a book. 

Dean laughed. “You totally deserve it.” 

Sam didn’t answer. His eyes flicked back and forth across the pages lightening fast. Dean guessed he was tryna get it over with as fast as possible. He played with Sam’s hair and watched him read. Sam’s face was real funny. “What’s it about?” 

“Torture,” Sam said. 

“I don’t remember that in the plot summaries, Sammy,” Dean said. He tugged at Sam’s hair. 

“Dean, quit that,” Sam said. 

“You’ve never complained about me pulling your hair before.”

“I am not going to associate your hands in my hair with this monstrosity,” Sam said. 

Dean snickered, but he quit touching Sam’s hair. It was disappointing. Sammy read for a good long while, several hours. It was well past his bedtime when he finally closed the last page. He glared at Dean. 

“That is not cool, Dean.”

“Yeah it kinda is,” Dean said. 

“I never made you do anything as awful as read a teen romance!” Sam said, “A  _ horrible _ teen romance. Horrible.” 

“You literally locked me into your house,” Dean said, “Being a fucking prisoner is way worse than any fucking book!” 

Sam sneered and threw the book at Dean’s head. Dean dodged. Sam vanished. 

That coulda gone better. Maybe Sam would think about it a bit. 

Sam popped back in when Dean was mostly asleep in bed. He stroked Dean’s shoulder, kissed his hair, wrapped his arms around him. It was nice. A bit weird after their fight, but nice. Dean wasn’t sure what it meant. Sam wasn’t still mad, but was he over it? Had he recognized he was way in the wrong? Dean let Sam hold him and drifted to sleep. 


	30. xxx

Sam was gone when Dean woke up, again. He was spending a lot of time at work. Dean got it, what with the apocalypse and shit like that, but he wished Sam wasn’t gone so much. Without Sam he was trapped all alone in the damn house. He sat up, swung his legs off the side of the bed, and went to stand up. He collapsed to the floor. 

“The fuck-?” 

Dean tried to get up. Everything seemed to be working, but his legs wouldn’t support him. He could crawl, but he couldn’t fucking stand up. Dean crawled over to the nightstand and grabbed his phone. 

_ this fucking better not be u _

_ Whatever do you mean, Dean? Oh, the crawling? Call it payback.  _

“Son of a bitch!” Why did it have to be Sam? And this was not fair payback, not by long shot. A few hours of angsty teens versus crawling on the floor like a fucking animal? Dean was gonna fucking kill Sam the next time he saw him. 

_ fuck u Sammy  _

Dean headed to the dresser to grab his clothes. It had been moved. His clothes were now in the overhead storage, a place he’d need to be able to fucking stand to reach. Since when did they even have over head fucking storage? Dean’s clothes were way out of reach. He was stuck naked. 

_ fucking hell sam?  _

_ LOL _

Lol. Seriously. That was Sam’s fucking response. Lol?! What the fuck? Asshole. 

_ I hat u so much rn _

Sam didn’t text back. Fucker. Dean noticed something. A dog collar, where his dresser had been. Sam didn’t have a dog. Dean’s name was on the tag. As the dog. And it had Sam as his owner. 

“Great,” Dean spat, “Just fucking great.” He really fucking wanted to storm outta the room, but instead he had to crawl pathetically, naked on his hands and knees. He kept his phone with him. Texting Sam might be cathartic. 

Sam had moved all the food into high cupboards out of reach. And there was a dog bowl on the floor. With kibble in it. There was a little water dish, too. Dean was so mad. 

_ BITCH fucking hell u fucking jerk _

Dean gave up on eating. He didn’t feel hungry anymore. Dean crawled to the bathroom, pulled himself up on the sink, and tried to clean his teeth. At least in the bathroom Sam hadn’t fucking moved anything, but it was still pretty damn hard to get around. Finally Dean felt sorta clean. He crawled unhappily around the house. This fucking sucked. 

Dean wasn’t sure why he sorta gravitated towards the library. He’d spent a shit ton of time in there lately, with all the spells and forced reading. Maybe there was a spell to de jelly his legs. He flipped through some books from lower shelves that looked promising, but he couldn’t find anything to fix his legs. Not being able to fucking reach half the books sure wasn’t helping. 

Sam had left several dog training books on the floor. Dean didn’t dare fucking touch them. They were probably fucking spelled, and he was not spending hours reading about fucking dogs. He fucking hated being treated like a dog. 

Dean found an odd looking book in the Jess box. It didn’t say it was a gift from Sam, but it looked like the other shit he’d given her. Maybe she’d come around to his way of thinking? Dean fucking hoped not. Sam needed someone to fucking stand up to his shit. 

Dean started reading. It was a pretty cool book, if kinda dry. It was about trapping weird monsters. What sigils to use, what kind of metal for chains, how to figure out how to trap something with limited info on what that something was. When Dean finished the book it was evening already and his stomach was killing him. 

The last page had an apology on it, from Sam to Jess. He’d sneakily tucked the book in her stuff and spelled it so she’d get stuck reading it when she opened it to figure out how it’d gotten there. Fuck him. Sam was a total asshole. 

Dean crawled halfway to the kitchen before he realized his legs were working again. He walked the rest of the way, ridiculously happy to be upright. It felt so good after all that fucking crawling. He ate sandwich fixings out of the fridge, and then his stomach hurt from eating too much at once after starving all day. 

Dean got clothes on and flopped on the couch, relaxing until Sam got home from his stupid court. 

“Fuck you,” Dean said. 

“Hi to you too, Dean,” Sam said. 

“Oh, hell, no,” Dean said, “You do not get the act like this is my fault!” 

“You don’t get to make me do things, Dean,” Sam said. 

“But you get to make me do whatever the hell you want?” Dean asked, “Screw you. You’re not the center of the fucking universe, Sam.” 

Dean couldn’t breathe. For no reason, he just out of nowhere couldn’t. Sam’s eyes weren’t hazel anymore, they were fucking yellow. He was acting like fucking Vader, using his evil power shit to choke people. Dean knew it’d hurt if he tried to talk, so he showed Sam his middle finger. That got his point across real fucking succinctly. 

Dean was just about to pass out when the pressure on his throat eased and Sam stormed out of the room. 

“Ow,” Dean whined, curling into the fetal position on the couch and massaging his throat. How was he supposed to fight that? There was never anything he could do against Sam. There had to be something, he couldn’t keep going like this. 

Dean crept into the bedroom that night. Thank fuck it was empty. He stripped and slid under the covers, turning away from Sam’s side of the bed. He really hoped Sam would leave him alone that night. 

Dean was still awake when Sam came in. He moved around the room for a bit, then the bed dipped as Sam slid in next to Dean. Sam’s hand touched Dean’s shoulder, and Dean flinched. Sam’s hand quickly retreated. Dean stared at the wall. Sam moved around a bit more before stilling. His breathing evened out and deepened. He was asleep. Dean slowly turned over to look at him. 

Light from the street came in through the window and lit up Sammy’s sleeping face. He looked peaceful, younger, smaller. Not like anybody who’d hurt someone. He was relaxed, innocent. But none of that was fucking real. Sam wouldn’t quit, he wouldn’t stop, he would just get worse and worse over time. Dean had seen abusive patterns in plenty of relationships, and this was not looking good. 

If it was just a relationship, Dean would’ve been looking for a way to leave. But Sam was his little brother, the only family he had left. He reached out, touched Sammy’s cheek with his fingertips. He couldn’t leave Sam. He had to find a way to change the situation, to make Sam stop hurting him. But he was just a fucking pathetic human, what chance was there of that? 

Magic. Sam was fighting Dean with demon powers, so Dean would use magic. With the right spells he should be able to bring Sam to his knees. Dean would still be with his only remaining family member, but he’d be Sam’s equal, not his bitch. Dean leaned forward, pressed his lips lightly over Sam’s. And he got up and headed for the library. Dean had a fuck ton of work to do if he was gonna pull this off. 


	31. xxxi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s a bit morally sketchy in this chapter. I mean, he’s a Winchester. Morally sketchy should be assumed.   
> After this I wanna write a wincest with no moral sketchiness. Probably impossible for me, but I can try.

It was less work then he’d thought to put together a way to trap Sam. A ton of the shit Dean needed was in the books Sam’s spells had forced him to read. With all the accidental help Dean’d gotten from Sam, all he really needed to do was put the pieces of his plan together, check it for holes, and find the best time to pull it off. 

He looked up a few spells and sigils he was missing, and found a blank notebook to write out the plan on. He needed to subdue Sam, which he’d figure out later, bind him with magical chains engraved with a certain bunch of sigils in various strategic places, get him to Baby, who he’d decorate with more sigils to keep demons from sensing them and stop Sam from getting a message to anybody, and drive as far as possible before the demons realized their leader was gone. Hopefully they’d be disorganized enough in his absence that Dean would get away. 

He’d have Sam, and Sam wouldn’t be able to hurt him anymore. The whole kidnap thing might make their relationship messy for a bit, but they’d figure it out. Sam would get over it. He’d have to come around eventually, and then Dean would let him out. It’d work. It had to. 

Dean hid the notebook and headed to bed. It was super late. He’d need energy if he was gonna make this work. He climbed into bed next to Sam, and Sam scooted towards him in his sleep. Dean let Sam climb on top of him and use him as a pillow. That was pretty much every night with Sammy, and he’d gotten used to it, kinda loved it. Sleeping in the same bed was his favorite part of having a lover. 

Sammy’s fingers wrapped around the amulet Dean wore, the one he’d given him. Dean wasn’t sure of his plan for a moment. With Sam asleep, head resting on Dean’s chest, legs tangling together under the sheets, he seemed so mild and innocent. He was so sweet and cute so often it was hard to believe he’d hurt anyone. Or he’d be powerful and dominant and hot as hell, but it was hard to imagine him being an abusive asshole when he wasn’t being one. 

But then he’d choke Dean or hit him, eyes made of ice, careless words that clearly said what exactly he thought of Dean. And Dean would hate him and be fucking scared. He hated it. It had to stop. And this was the only way to do it without losing the Sammy he liked and needed. 

So he’d do it. He’d fucking kidnap his baby brother who was asleep with his head on Dean’s chest. Fucking hell. He felt like an asshole. Sam deserved it, though, and there wasn’t another option. All Dean needed was a way out of the house, and a way to knock Sammy out long enough to chain him up. With Sammy trusting him this much the latter should be pretty fucking easy. 

Sam wasn’t in the bedroom when Dean woke up, so he assumed he’d already left for work. Fuck him. He was never home. At least when he’d kidnapped Sam Dean would get to pick how much time they’d spend together. He yanked on clothes and headed for the kitchen to make breakfast. 

Sam was in the kitchen. Oh. So he hadn't left. He smiled at Dean, this panicky, too big smile that wasn’t working. A guilty, ‘I’m sorry’ smile, if that was a thing. Dean was still massively pissed off at him, to the point of planning to kidnap him, but he really didn’t want Sam to know that. 

And Sam was an easy person to be nice to. Dean went up to him, hugged him, and kissed the panicky smile off his thin lips. Sam kissed back, hugging him and pulling him closer. Dean pulled back, pulled away, but took Sam’s hand in his. 

“Morning,” Dean said. 

“G’morning, De,” Sam said. The nervous pleading was back on his face. He knew he’d messed up the night before. 

Dean rubbed Sam’s knuckles with his fingers. There was no point to Sam worrying. It’d make Dean’s plan harder. “You’re not at work yet?”

“I thought I’d hang out for a bit,” Sam asked, “I haven’t seen much of you lately.” 

Dean had wanted to see more of Sam too. So while this was fucking inconvenient, it was pretty damn nice. More guilt. Did abuse justify kidnap? How the fuck was Dean supposed to know? Probably not. He didn’t fucking care. It was the only solution he had, so he was gonna fucking take it. 

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean said, “You’ve been at work a fuck ton lately. And I’ve been trapped here, so you wouldn’t’ve seen me.” 

Sam’s head drooped. “Yeah,” he mumbled. 

Could Dean get Sam to ditch the house arrest spell? Cuz that’d be pretty fucking useful. “It’s pretty fucking frustrating, being stuck in the damn house alone all day,” Dean said. 

“I’ll be at home more, Dean,” Sam said, “I’ve just been busy, I didn’t mean to make you miserable.” Earnest, cute as hell hazel eyes. 

Dean reminded himself that Sam was a moody asshole. “Nah, I get that the whole apocalypse thing has you super busy. It’s fine. I’ll just keep being bored to death.” 

“OK,” Sam said. 

Dammit. He was supposed to feel guilty and let Dean out. Maybe he wanted Dean stuck more than Dean had thought. He’d have to find his own way out. 

“The pie’s ready.” 

Why was Sam always making pie when Dean was trying to be mad at him? It was fucking impossible. Sam fed him pie, massaged him, blew him, and basically massively sucked up to Dean all that morning. By the time he left for work Dean was having a really hard time staying mad at him. 

Was Dean’s plan really worth it? He brought up the panic and helplessness he’d felt when Sam hurt him. Yeah, it was fucking worth it. 


	32. xxxii

The only thing Dean couldn’t fucking figure out was how to get out of the damn house. And obviously he couldn’t kidnap anybody if he was stuck himself. Dammit, how the fuck was he supposed to figure this out? He opened the front door, tried to walk out of it. Didn’t work. Duh. Why’d he even bother?

Sam might get a laugh out of Dean crawling. Maybe that’d fucking work to get him the fuck out of here. It didn’t. He got up, scowled at the lawn. This was infuriating. He tried to jump out, walk backwards, walk out with his eyes closed, he got a running start, not one fucking thing worked. Dean couldn’t even get out of the house, how dumb was that? 

It was infuriating. Dean slammed the door shut and locked it, then punched it in a fit of rage. He stomped into another room. Fucking door. Fuck Sam. Fuck his mind control spell shit. He was a fucking dick. 

He should give the door another shot. He couldn’t give up. He couldn’t fail. It just wasn’t something that he could let happen. He had to get out of the house, so he’d keep trying until something worked. There wasn’t anything else to do. Bullheaded determination could force anything to fucking do what he wanted. 

Dean went back to the door, unlocked it, opened it, stepped outside. “What the fuck!?” 

He was outside. He was fucking outside, what the fuck? How? Fucking how? He’d- he’d locked the door. He’d locked the door, and that fucking broke Sam’s stupid spell. Of course. The fuck had he expected? So damn obvious

Dean went back inside, grabbed his fucking notebook, and went to decorate Baby with some sigils to hide him and Sam from the demons. It was tough, copying down sigils. A fucking nightmare. It took absolute concentration and precision and all sorts of things Dean fucking hated. But he got it done, because there wasn’t another choice. 

Shit couldn’t go on the way it had been, he couldn’t leave and lose Sam, there was nothing else to do but this. So he had to paint the sigils on, had to double and triple check them all, had to wipe away some failed ones and carefully redo them, had to check them again, had to make sure none of them would get scraped off or blurred. It took all the rest of the day to get it done. 

Sam got back to their home a bit after Dean finished with the car, sometime around midnight. His eyes were blank and dark as shit. For once, Sam’s demon blood addiction benefitted Dean. He hated it, but it’d make Sam a hell of a lot easier to subdue. He was almost as weak as a human like this. 

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said. 

“Sammy,” Dean said. He got up, walked over to Sam, pressed their lips together. He didn’t know how mad Sam would be about the kidnapping. He wanted a kiss first, just in case it was the last one he’d get for a while. Sam’s lips moved against Dean’s, his teeth sharp, he nipped Dean’s lip. Dean moaned. 

“I had a vision,” Sam said between hot, wet kisses full of teeth, “You hit me over the head with a frying pan. While we were kissing in the kitchen, just like now.” 

Dean stiffened in Sam’s arms, panicking. Sam knew. Dean was so fucking screwed. 

“So I moved the frying pan,” Sam said. He kissed Dean, so passionately Dean forgot to panic, melted against Sam, kissing back with eager moans and slipping his hands up under Sam’s shirt. Slick, wet, hot, his tongue in Sam’s mouth. Fucking hell. 

Sam pulled away a bit. Spit dripped from the corner of his mouth, fucking hot, why were they talking now? 

“I get why you’d hit me,” Sam said, with a bitter laugh, “I deserve it.” His hand slid up under Dean’s shirt, his fingers brushing over one of Dean’s nipples. “I don’t know what you’d gain from it.”

Dean forced himself to think clearly. How the fuck was he supposed to deal with this situation? And if Sam knew, shouldn’t he be angrily throwing Dean around the room choking him out, not doing this? The fuck did Sam want?

Sam’s head ducked, he mouthed along Dean’s neck, sucking, grazing with his teeth. 

“Fuck!” Dean gasped. Sam’s teeth were sharp, felt amazing. 

Sam stopped at Dean’s pulse point, sucked hard, bit down. Dean whined. There was an obscene sucking noise when Sam pulled away enough to make eye contact. Dark black eyes, colorless, cold. What the fuck had Dean got himself into? And he was hopelessly aroused, putty in Sam’s hands like this. Son of a bitch. That was Sam’s plan, wasn’t it. 

“You can’t fight me,” Sam said, “Are you really so miserable, so scared that you’d have to try?”

Dean really didn’t want to fucking think about this right then. And Sam gave him a distraction, thumbed his nipple, played with it. 

“It’s my fault,” Sam said, “I deserve it. But it’s never gonna happen, Dean. You can’t win.”

Dean was fucking done with Sam doing whatever the fuck he was doing with the talking and the sexual crap and all this shit. He threw a punch, and it landed, caught Sam off guard. Sam hit back immediately, but with human strength, no powers. He seemed confused, scared, and Dean took him down and knocked him out. It wasn’t even really a fight. That’d been way too easy, and Dean did not feel good about it.

The demon blood on Sam’s breath, how weak he was, it wasn’t adding up to anything good. Dean was real fucking glad he was getting Sam out right then. He didn’t want Sammy getting hurt anymore than necessary. And he’d make sure demon blood couldn’t hurt him again. He might have to hurt Sam to kidnap him, but he’d be careful, make sure not to hurt him too badly. He had to keep Sam as safe as possible, doing this. It was the only fucking way to live with himself. 

He got the chains, bound Sam. Took him to Baby, set him in the backseat. Time to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible. He really hoped no demons were watching Sam. Dean pushed Baby as fast as she could safely go, changed directions a few times, tried to stay away from cameras. He didn’t think demons would think to check cameras, but he couldn’t risk it. He had one shot. If this failed he was toast. 

It seemed so easy. Flawless. How had this worked? Dean was laughing, feeling kinda fucking hysterical. It’d worked. He was free, he had Sam, Sam was trapped, there weren’t any demons after them. It was fucking perfect, everything he’d wanted. Dean didn’t want any music, the moment felt too complete, too beautiful. He was free! His heart felt lighter, his head didn’t ache, he could laugh again. He was safe. Everything was good again. He felt like he could fly, no, he fucking felt like he was flying. On the road with Baby, a million pounds lighter, watching the greenery flit by, the open road ahead, Sam asleep in the backseat. He hadn’t realized how terrorized he’d been until he wasn’t anymore. 


	33. xxxiii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a reminder that this is tagged Dark Sam. Please also note the added tag Suicide Attempt. I don’t wanna spoil it, but this isn’t pretty.

Dean started feeling worried when it’d been hours and Sam was still out. He hadn’t hit him that hard. There’d been adrenaline and feelings and panic and shit, but Dean knew how to knock somebody out. Sam shoulda woken up already. He tried not to remember Sam coughing up his own blood after drinking demon blood. 

It was maybe nine in the morning when Dean decided to stop. He’d been driving all night and he was dead exhausted. He didn’t dare stop at a motel; they could be getting tracked. Did the demons know their king was missing yet? Dean parked in a park, the kinda place Sam liked. All woods and distance and emptiness. If there was anywhere nobody’d find them, it was here. 

He got out, went around to the back to see Sam. Dude was still out. That was pretty fucking bad. It’d been nine hours since Dean had hit him in the head. It wasn’t like he could take Sam to the fucking hospital. If he was seriously hurt- Dean wasn’t thinking about it. 

He touched Sam’s shoulder, about to shake him awake. 

“Don’t touch me!” Sam said. He hadn’t moved or opened his eyes, but he didn’t sound like he’d been out. 

“Were you faking?” Dean asked, moving his hand away. 

Sam didn’t move or respond. 

When had he ever told Dean not to touch him? It was new. Not entirely unexpected, but it kinda hurt. Dean wasn’t gonna think about that. He’d known Sam wasn’t gonna be happy with him, he wasn’t an idiot. 

“We’re stopping here,” Dean said, “For the day.” That was fucking dumb, but he didn’t know what to say. 

“Do I look like I care?” Sam’s eyes were still closed, he still hadn’t moved. 

Dean was exhausted, and Sam was kinda hard to read. “Whatever, man,” Dean said, “G’night.” 

“Go to hell, Dean,” Sam said. 

This felt like a bad start. Dean went back to the front seat and tried to go to sleep. He was exhausted, but his body wouldn’t shut down. He was too tired to drive, too tired to think clearly, and apparently not fucking tired enough to fall the fuck asleep. It was pretty damn miserable. Eventually he slept, lightly and uneasily. 

He was tired when he woke up. Sam had kicked the back of his seat, that was what’d woken him. “The fuck do you want?” 

Sam didn’t say a fucking thing. It was too early for this. Had Sam just been being a dick? Dean turned around, looked back at him. Sam was glaring at him. Really glaring. Dean shivered. He was pretty sure he’d be screaming in pain if the chains weren’t stopping Sam’s magic. 

“So you just woke me up to be a fucking dick,” Dean said. He checked the time. 1:52. Wasn’t like Dean was gonna get any more sleep, he might as well get back on the road. 

“I need to pee,” Sam said. 

Sam was dying of embarrassed humiliation at admitting that. It was pretty funny. Dean let Sam out of the car, helped him hobble over to the grass. His hands were so thoroughly chained up that he couldn’t reach his belt buckle, and Dean had to help him. Sam started into the distance, face blank. Based on what Dean had learned of how to read him, he’d guess Sam was focusing on not crying. 

Seeing power helpless was an odd kind of sad. Dean had learned that from hunting, watching proud, beautiful creatures that should’ve been too strong to get beaten lying helpless and broken on the ground with nothing left. Nobody was powerful enough to not get taken down, not even Sam. He’d gone from the fucking image of dominance and power to the tied up guy who couldn’t fucking walk by himself. It was some fucked up shit that that could happen. 

Dean brought Sam back to Baby, stuck him in the passenger’s seat. Sam’s posture was perfect, like he could stop himself from looking like a loser if he just sat straight enough and kept his chin up. But he’d lost, and they both knew it. 

Dean turned music on, played it loudly enough there was no way they could talk. This whole thing felt awful now, and there was no way he was gonna sit there awkwardly while they drove away from where they’d lived. It was easier to drive towards something than away from it. He’d have to find somewhere with a case to drive towards when they stopped for the night. 

How the fuck was he supposed to hunt? How would that work with Sam chained up in the passenger’s seat? Could it even fucking work? He couldn’t take Sam with him, cuz the demons might track them and the normal people would be super suspicious of a guy who had another guy tied up. Leaving Sam stuck in a crappy motel room seemed like a shit thing to do, but it’d work. He might get stuck doing that. 

Dean couldn’t find a case when he looked for one in the motel that night. Sam was distracting him, glaring at him like he was trying to bore a hole in Dean’s head with his eyes. It was creeping Dean out. 

“Will you quit that?” Dean said finally. 

“Yes, of course, Dean, whatever you say,” Sam said sarcastically, “Since you have me stuck, it’s not like I can defy you.” He was suddenly in Dean’s space, his hands on Dean’s neck, which shouldn’t be possible. Dean had looped one of Sam’s chains around the leg of one of the beds, so he should be over there. And how had he moved so silently? Sam’s hands constricted, cutting off Dean’s air way. “You haven’t won. When I escape, and I will, you are going to wish you’d never dreamed of chaining me up.” 

Dean yanked away from Sam’s hands and elbowed him. He got up and dragged Sam back over to the bed. Sam didn’t really fight him. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Sam said, “You won’t feel it. You’ll have been hurt so much you won’t feel anything anymore, and that’s when I’ll kill you.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sam,” Dean said tiredly. 

“I don’t think I’ll hate you anymore, when I kill you,” Sam said, “I’ll have gotten that out tearing you to shreds. You’ll scream so beautifully. You’ll be too pathetic to hate, in the end. It’ll be a mercy kill. You’ll have suffered too much to beg for me to kill you. You’ll just be blank. Stripped down to nothingness.”

A gag. Dean was trying to find a gag. He wasn’t supposed to be standing there, frozen from listening to Sam talk about killing him. Fucking hell. He needed that gag. He needed to not hear Sam say stuff like this. He really fucking needed Sam to be lying right now. Sam wouldn’t really, would he? There was no lie in his soft, pretty hazel eyes. Dean was gonna vomit. 

“We’ll have so much fun together, Dean,” Sam said, “Me slowly taking you apart. Ripping, shredding. But sometimes I’ll just talk to you. You’ll hate that the most at first. No pain to focus on, just your mind screaming at you. You’ll run out of you after a time. You’ll beg me to torture you, to talk to you, to be there. You’ll love me. Your mind will break, there won’t be a Dean anymore. Won’t that be nice.”

Dean hyperventilated, cried, put his hands over his ears. This was Sam. This was Sam, saying all this. His Sammy. 

“You could kill me,” Sam said. He bared his throat to Dean. “Shut me up. Stop any of that from ever happening.”

That was an idea. What did Sam get from it though? Why would he say that? Why would Sam say any of this?

“Get out your gun,” Sam ordered. 

Dean was too confused and terrified to disobey. He got his gun out. 

“Point it at me,” Sam said. 

The gun lifted. Dean stared at Sam. He was blurry cuz Dean’s eyes were so wet. His mind was still struggling with the horror of everything Sam had said. He didn’t know if he could refuse any orders in that tone of voice. 

“Aim at my head,” Sam commanded. 

Dean managed to do that. 

“Safety off.”

His fingers shook, but he did it. What was Sam doing? How was Dean supposed to-? 

“Shoot,” Sam ordered. 


	34. xxxiv

Dean was frozen, staring at Sam. “What the fuck?” He wished his voice wouldn’t fucking shake. 

“Shoot me!” Sam demanded. 

“Sammy,” Dean said, “What the actual fuck? Why do you want me to fucking shoot you?” He lowered the gun. 

“Dean, I’m a monster,” Sam bit out, “I want to destroy you, remember? You’re a hunter. Hunt me!” 

Dean put the safety back on and put the gun away. 

Sam struggled against the chains. He didn’t get out, obviously. Dean went and sat next to him. “Alright, Sammy, calm down,” he said. 

“Go fuck yourself!” Sam said, “Fucking kill me already!” 

Dean slapped him. 

Sam growled at him. “You’re the worst hunter ever, Dean. Dad would be ashamed of you.”

Now Sam was just trying to be as mean as possible. Dean wasn’t gonna play his game. He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam yanked away furiously. “I said don’t touch me!”

“And then you tried to strangle me, asshole,” Dean said, “I figured your no touch thing was over. Not tryna hurt you.” 

“Then why am I in chains?” Sam asked. 

“Because you were an abusive dick, who left me with no other fucking options,” Dean said, “This is your fault.”

“Then kill me,” Sam said, “I was horrible to you. I forced you to marry me, I practically raped you, I blinded you, I locked you up, practiced magic on you. You should hate me. You obviously do. So kill me.” 

“Go to sleep,” Dean ordered. He was way too tired to deal with this shit. 

He turned the lights out, watched Sam shift uncomfortably, unable to even get under the blankets with all the chains. He thought about tying Sam to the bed, but that was just a step creepier than he’d go. Sam would just get out of it again, anyway, so what was the fucking point?

Dean lay down in his own bed, the one by the door, curled up under the blankets and tried to go to sleep. He couldn’t. He blamed it on Sam making too much noise, shifting restlessly in the other bed, but that wasn’t it. He missed Sam’s warmth next to him. It made being alone again fucking depressing. It took him a while, but he was tired and he did fall asleep. 

Something was wrong. Dean woke up, his hunter instincts screaming at him. He lay there, breathing steady and eyes closed, trying to figure out what was wrong before he let anything know he was awake. Somebody was up and moving in the room, creeping towards the door. He shoulda tied Sam to the damn bed. 

Dean moved suddenly, getting up and trying to grab Sam. But Sam got out of the room with a chair before he could. The fucking door opened out, and Dean couldn’t get the thing to move. Sam had jammed it with the fucking chair. It’d keep Dean trapped for just a moment. 

Dean slammed against the door. The fuck did Sam hope to get out of this? He was shuffling slowly in his chains, it wasn’t like he’d get away. Dean body-slammed the door again. It shivered, but he couldn’t get the damn thing open. Sam wasn’t trying to kill himself, was he? Dean threw himself into the door, harder. He couldn’t let that happen. Sam couldn’t’ve gotten to a weapon, right? 

Dean heard a sob from outside as he smashed through the door. Sam was kneeling on the sidewalk, his head a bloody mess. He threw himself down against the sidewalk, headfirst. Dean’s mouth fell open in horror. 

“Sammy,” he said. 

Sam smashed his head into the sidewalk again. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean raced over to him and caught his shoulders, stopping him from hitting himself again. 

Sam was crying, bloody, his face screwed up in pain. 

“The fuck are you doing?!” 

“De,” Sam whimpered, reaching out for him. “Ow.”

Dean helped Sammy up and half carried him back into their room. Sam acted clingy and lost while Dean cleaned and bandaged his head. Dean was angry, scared, and so done with Sam’s shit. He set Sam on the bed. 

“You’re gonna go the fuck to sleep, right now,” Dean ordered, “Do not get up or try to leave. You won’t like what happens if you fucking cross me again, got it?”

Sam was barely not crying anymore. He turned his face away from Dean, not saying anything, but not moving either. Dean growled and stalked over to his own bed. Sammy better not fucking try anything. Dean lay down, but he still couldn’t get any sleep. It was fucking worse, trying to sleep knowing Sam was injured and probably crying in the other bed. The fuck was up with him? Normal people didn’t fucking act like that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about having Dean shoot Sam, having him die, ending the story there. Fortunately for you guys there’s more story to tell, and Sam’s motives need to be explained. I might even give them a happy ending.


	35. xxxv

Sam got up, out of bed. Again. Dean was so fucking done with this. Chains clinked together as Sam made his way across the space between their beds. 

“Did I fucking say you could get out of bed?” Dean demanded. He was so fucking tired. If Sam would just go to sleep then Dean could go back to trying to force himself to sleep. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sam said. 

“So? It’s fucking two am or some shit,” Dean said. 

“Can I sleep with you?” 

Dean rolled over to look at Sam properly. “The fuck? You know I’d have to touch you for that.” 

“That’s kinda the point, isn’t it?” Sam asked, “Of sharing a bed?” 

“You’re gonna give me fucking whiplash,” Dean said. But he scooted over and lifted the covers for Sam to join him. 

The chains made it tricky for him, but Sam managed to get in next to Dean. He scooted half on top of Dean, his head resting on Dean’s chest and his hands stuck next to his head. “Hold me,” he said. 

Dean was still trying to figure out when Sam had decided to quit yelling every time Dean so much as fucking brushed shoulders with him. 

“Why aren’t you holding me?” Sam asked plaintively, “You wouldn’t kill me or let me kill myself, so you love me. Or you hate me and want me stuck and helpless to hurt me. But why’d you bandage my head, then.” 

“I don’t hate you, Sammy,” Dean said. He wasn’t sure if he loved Sam, but he sure as hell didn’t hate him or want him dead. It’d be great if being chained up would make Sam realize being an asshole wasn’t ok and somehow make him grow up about it, but Dean definitely wasn’t happy that Sam felt helpless and scared. He hoped he and Sammy could be happy and have a healthy relationship someday, but it felt better to have Sam tied up then for Dean to have to deal with all the shit Sam put him through when he wasn’t tied up. 

Dean put his arms around Sam and toyed with his silky hair. At least there was one bit of Sam that Dean didn’t have mixed emotions about. He fucking loved that hair. He was extra careful, not wanting to hurt Sammy. Sammy had a concussion, so it was super important to be gentle with his head. 

“Why don’t you hate me?” Sam asked, “Don’t get me wrong, I’d be devastated if you did, but I don’t get it.” 

“I just don’t,” Dean said. He couldn’t hate Sammy if he tried. 

Sam was quiet for a minute, but not long enough for Dean to fall asleep. “What are we going to do about the apocalypse?” 

“Can we do anything?” Dean asked. 

“I don’t know,” Sam said, “Not really, I guess. There are so many seals, and only a tenth of them have to break. It’s impossible to stop.” 

“What’s it even mean?” Dean asked, “Besides the obvious.”

“I’ll be Satan’s bitch, you’ll get possessed by an archangel, and we’ll both die horribly,” Sam said, “Oh, and the world will be destroyed. Pretty much everyone will die.” 

“That sounds pretty fucking awful,” Dean said, “We’ll come up with something. There’s gotta be a way to stop the seals from working or something.” 

“There isn’t,” Sam said. 

“We’ll find something,” Dean said, “It’s gonna be fine. Chill, Sammy.” 

Sam hid his face in Dean’s chest. “I don’t wanna get possessed by the devil. Possession is like being raped. It’s horrid.” 

“Didn’t you say I was gonna get possessed by an angel?” Dean asked, “Wait a fucking second. Angels are real?”

Sam laughed softly. “Yeah, angels are real. They’re a lot like demons, just a lot stronger and even less competent.” 

“So angels are dicks,” Dean said. 

“Basically, yeah. You run into an angel then you draw a banishing sigil on a flat surface in your blood. I can show you how. And then you hope the angel isn’t interesting enough in you to come back. They’re pretty much impossible to fight.”

Angels? Really, fucking angels. Wow. “Are unicorns real, too?”


	36. xxxvi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When you have a plot but your characters just fuck for the whole chapter...

“How am I supposed to shower like this?” Sam asked. He jingled his chains in Dean’s face. “No, how am I even supposed to take my clothes off like this?”

“Lemme finish my coffee and I’ll fucking help you,” Dean grumbled. Why was Sam so fucking awake in the mornings? 

Sam tried to pace impatiently, but his slow shuffle just made him look silly. The chains wouldn’t let his ankles get more than a handful of inches apart. It turned out those chains also made it fucking impossible to pull Sam’s clothes off. Dean had to use a knife to cut Sam’s clothes off from around the chains. 

Sam was panting, flushed. He leaned into the knife, and it broke his skin. Blood beaded on the tanned flesh of his side. Dean yanked the knife back and stared into Sam’s fucking lust blown hazel eyes. 

“You like that, Sammy?” Dean asked. He trailed the knife down Sam’s arm, just barely not cutting him. 

“Please,” Sam said, “Cut me.”

Dean’s eyes locked on the small cut on Sam’s side, the dripping blood. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” Dean said, “You’re pretty beat up already.”

Sam scowled at him. “Tease.” 

“Sometime when you’re not hurt,” Dean said. He finished cutting away Sam’s clothes and put the knife away. 

Dean was gonna leave Sam alone to shower, but quickly realized there was no way that would fucking work. With Sam’s wrists chained to his neck, there wasn’t much he could reach. Dean had to wash all of Sam. He did it slowly, toeing the line between washing and groping. Sam leaned into Dean’s touches, his dick hardening.

He was fucking gorgeous like this. Trusting, relaxed. All chained up and naked, helpless, hot water cascading over his warm, flushed skin. 

“Fucking beautiful, Sammy,” Dean said. He was getting hard, too. Getting to touch Sam all over was pretty damn erotic, and he’d never really got a chance to explore Sam’s body before. It’d been all Sam touching him, or him clinging to Sam’s shoulders while Sam fucked into him. And that’d been hot as hell, but this was good in a different way. 

“I know,” Sam said, smug. 

Brat. He was beautiful, though, and anybody with fucking eyes would have to see that. Sam could afford to be a bit vain. 

Sam stretched a bit under Dean’s hands. Dean stroked Sam’s chest, feeling his muscles shift under his skin. How the fuck had he taken Sam down so easily? Sam was a fucking mountain. Even if he didn’t know how to fight he wouldn’t’ve just lost like that. 

Dean finished washing Sam, and Sam started washing Dean. It caught him a bit off guard, but he wasn’t complaining. Sam’s hands were tied to his neck, so while he couldn’t reach a fucking thing on himself, with some extra effort he could reach everywhere on Dean. His hands were warm and rough and felt so good. They reminded Dean of all the good stuff he missed from before he’d kidnapped Sam. He was still glad he’d gone through with it, especially since Sam could apparently be fucking dominant in chains. 

When he’d finished washing Dean he pushed him down to his knees in front of him. “Suck me off,” Sam ordered. 

Dean was painfully aroused from having Sam’s hands linger all over his body, and disobeying didn’t even fucking occur to him. He nuzzled Sam’s balls, licked at them and took one in his mouth. Sam’s skin always tasted fucking delicious. He sucked on the other ball, then kitten licked Sam’s slit. 

Sam’s cock was bigger than anything Dean had had in his mouth before. He felt a bit nervous about trying this, and that made him hard. He licked at Sam’s slit again and looked up at him. Sam’s lips were slightly parted, his pretty hazel eyes dark. He was fucking hot in chains. Dean whimpered and reached for his own aching cock. 

“Don’t touch yourself, Dean,” Sam said. His voice was rough and low. 

Dean put his hand back on his knee. There was no going against Sam when he sounded like that. He took the head of Sam’s cock in his mouth and hummed around it. Sam thrust into Dean’s mouth, slowly and lightly, nothing that could choke or hurt him. 

He did that for a while, and Dean sucked and hummed around him. Sam’s cock was warm and wide, stretching Dean’s mouth open, thrusting between his swollen lips. Sam’s movements didn’t change when he got close to cumming, he just stiffened up a bit and his breathing sped up, got erratic. 

“Pull off if you don’t want my cum in your mouth,” Sam said. 

Dean kept sucking on Sam’s cock. Sam’s hips stuttered as he came with a moan. He relaxed, slumped against the shower wall to stay upright. Dean got up quickly, wrapping his arms around Sam. He looked like he was about to fall, and Dean needed to make sure Sammy wouldn’t get hurt worse. 

Sam licked a bit of his cum off Dean’s chin. He pressed his thin lips to Dean’s plump, swollen ones in a soft kiss, licking at Dean’s lips until he opened them. Sam hummed happily. He nipped at Dean’s lip, the sharp pressure of his teeth making Dean moan. Dean rocked forward, his stiff dick pressing against Sam. He hadn’t gotten to cum yet, and he was really hoping that bit came fucking soon. 

Sam pulled away, and dropped to his knees in front of Dean. He smiled up at him. “Fuck my mouth,” he ordered. 

“Your hands are tied,” Dean said, “You can’t tap out or push me off.” He couldn’t do anything that’d hurt Sammy, even if he really wanted to just grab Sam by the hair and thrust roughly into his soft, hot mouth. 

“Fuck my mouth, Dean,” Sam repeated, “Make me gag. I wanna be crying by the time you choke me with your cum. Be  _ rough _ .” 

A whine slipped past Dean’s lips and his cock twitched excitedly. That was a great idea, but he might hurt Sam. Fuck it. Sam had asked for it. Dean pushed his cock into Sam’s mouth. He was careful and gentle with how he held Sam’s injured head still, but he fucked his mouth deep and harsh. 

Sam moaned, so Dean figured he was ok with this. Dean had been pretty damn hard already; he wasn’t gonna last long. Sam had said to make him cry. Dean thrust deeper. Sam choked, gagged, his throat trembled and convulsed around Dean. It felt fucking amazing. Dean kept being rough, going too deep, watched tears pool in Sammy’s pretty hazel eyes. 

He thrust erratically, wildly, chasing the orgasm he could feel building. Sam was still choking, gasping and trembling around Dean’s cock. The tears had spilled over in his eyes, mixed with the shower water on his face. His thin lips stretched around Dean’s cock, his body in chains, his tight, hot mouth. Dean thrust balls deep into Sam’s mouth as his orgasm rushed through him. 

It took a moment for Dean to remember to let Sam go. Chains clinked as Sam slumped back, coughing pitifully. Dean’s cum dripped from between his puffy, red lips. He pulled at the metal around his neck, struggling to breathe. It was beautiful. 

Dean sat next to Sam, pulled him into a more comfortable position. He pet Sam’s hair and let him lean on Dean’s shoulder while his throat calmed down. It took Sam a while to breathe normally. He snuggled against Dean, who just held him for a while, switching the shower off when the water went cold. 


	37. xxxvii

Dean skimmed through some news article. Mysterious death: suicide by hanging, but he was already dead when he hung himself. He’d been drowned and then hung, probably by a normal human attacker. Dean went back to his original search. He needed to find a case, hopefully one Sam could help with in some way. This was fucking impossible. 

Sam’s hand on Dean’s shoulder startled him. “No luck?” Sam asked, right in Dean’s ear. 

“The researchy bit takes fucking forever,” Dean said. 

“Let me try,” Sam said. 

“Sure thing.” Dean would take any opportunity to be done researching. 

Sam sat in the chair, but had to lean way over to reach the keyboard. And then his head was stuck so he could barely see the screen. He got back up, kicked away the chair, and knelt in front of the table. He started tapping keys and looking through boring shit. 

“Find anything yet?” Dean asked. 

Sam seemed to consider something. “Nothing you’d want to hunt.” 

Weird answer. Whatever. Dean distracted himself for a couple minutes watching Sam work. He knew Sam was upset about not being able to get any clothes over the chains, but Dean sure wasn’t. Naked, kneeling Sam wasn’t a sight anybody’d want to miss. He was fucking hot. 

“So, whatcha looking at?” Dean asked after a while. 

“Police reports, Dean.” 

Not the detailed answer Dean was looking for. He hummed and meandered around the motel room. “You find anything yet?” 

“Dean, it’s been two minutes since the last time you asked that.” 

Dean huffed. It’d been fucking longer than two minutes. Maybe. 

“I can’t concentrate with you acting like this,” Sam said, “Go sew me some clothes I can put on or something.” 

Dean perked up at the idea of doing something. Sitting around bored was a fucking nightmare. “Sammy, I can’t fucking sew,” Dean said. He wasn’t a fucking girl. Course he couldn’t sew. 

“Can you stitch up wounds?” Sammy asked. 

“Course,” Dean said, “I sew myself up all the time. Pretty damn good at it.” He realized what he’d just said. “Oh.” 

Sam fucking laughed at him. “Go sew me an outfit, then, Dean,” he said. 

Dean pouted and went to find the scissors. The clothes Dean cut up and restitched didn’t exactly look good, but they’d work around the shackles. From a distance you wouldn’t notice anything, not that that mattered with the super damn obvious shackles that were hella suspicious. He still couldn’t let anybody see Sam. 

“You almost done with that?” Sam asked. 

“Almost,” Dean said. He’d finished what he could of Sam’s shirt, he’d need to finish sewing it while it was fucking on Sam’s body. He was just working on the funky ties he was making on Sam’s pants. Chains made everything fucking complicated. It’d almost be easier to take the chains off for a minute, but he couldn’t do that. Sam would escape in half a second if Dean removed any of the chains. 

“I found a hunt,” Sam said. 

“Go on,” Dean said. 

“So get this, every twenty three years several hikers or campers go missing in an isolated bit of forest. The disappearances only last for a couple weeks and then nothing happens for so long that nobody sees the pattern. We can get there by tonight if we hurry. We just need fire and it should be a reasonably easy hunt.” 

“Fire?” Dean asked, “Like a campfire?” 

“No, like a flamethrower, idiot,” Sam said, “Were you listening to me?” 

“Yeah, but what is it we’re hunting that needs a flamethrower?” Dean asked. 

“Do you not know the basic lore behind a Wendigo?” Sam asked. He sounded real fucking annoyed. 

Dean shrugged. “I can’t know everything!” 

Sam condescended to explain Wendigos to Dean. He was a real brat about it. Dean was a hunter, not a fucking scholar. He couldn’t be expected to know this shit. The hunt sounded pretty damn good, though. Dean needed to hunt. 

“So you got it?” Sam asked. 

“Yup,” Dean said, “Let’s get going.”

“Dress me first,” Sam ordered. 

“Well, duh,” Dean said, “Can’t have you walking across the parking lot naked. Or sitting in the car like that. It’d be pretty damn distracting.” 

“Just get the clothes on,” Sam said. He looked a bit flustered. It was real fucking cute. 

Sam winced when he stood up, and there were pressure marks on his knees. He’d been fucking kneeling for too long, Dean should’ve gotten him a cushion or something. He couldn’t let his Sammy get hurt. 

Dean slowly sewed the shirt up, taking forever making sure not to stab Sammy with the needle. There was a lot of shirt, and it took longer than he’d expected. Pants and underwear were easier, and socks and shoes were thankfully just normal. He finished covering Sammy up and they packed their stuff up, Dean checked out, and they hopped into Baby and were on their way. 

Dean didn’t know what it’d be like to hunt with Sammy, but he was looking forward to it. Hopefully a Wendigo wouldn’t be too much with a hunter and a tied up person. It’d sounded like more of a two man hunt, and Dean didn’t know if Sam could manage that. They’d figure it out, though. 


	38. xxxviii

Hiking was a fucking nightmare. Worst decision ever. It was a super dense, evil forest, full of above ground roots and vines and branches. The path was thin as hell and covered in fucking spiderwebs. Nightmare. 

Dean was just stumbling through it, tripping over every third thing and being constantly smacked in the face with leaves. Sam was moving at the slow shuffle his chains kept him at, pausing sometimes to figure out how to step up far enough to get over some foresty shit. He was still doing way better than Dean, though. It wasn’t fucking fair. Dean was free and Sam was still way better at this hiking shit. 

“It’s been eight miles by now, right?” Dean asked. He tried not to sound too desperate.

“It’s been, like, three miles,” Sam said, “At this rate we won’t get there today. We need to pick up the pace.” 

“Fine,” Dean grumped. Why the fuck had he agreed to this hunt? Innocent people were dying. They had to stop more people from dying. Fucking hell was this a nightmare, though. 

Several hours and plenty of breaks later, it started getting close to dark. 

“We need to find a place to camp,” Sam said. 

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

Ten minutes later Dean was setting up camp in what woulda been a clearing if it’d been three times as big. Sam didn’t help, which was totally fair. Wasn’t much he could do. Wasn’t much to do, really, either. Dean just put down a tarp and their sleeping bags, copied a bunch of funny symbols from Sam’s paper onto the ground around the edges of the clearing, and made dinner by opening a can. Real simple and easy. 

It was way too soon to go to sleep, even though Dean was pretty damn exhausted from hiking all day. They talked for a while, not really about anything in particular, until maybe an hour or two past when Sam usually went to sleep. He got into his sleeping bag and closed his eyes, but Dean could see no sleep was happening. 

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” Dean asked. 

“It’s cold, Dean,” Sam said, “Can we zip our sleeping bags together for warmth?” 

It was cold; it was late in the year and they were up in the fucking mountains for this hunt. 

“Sure, Sammy,” Dean said. He got in his sleeping bag, unzipped Sam’s and zipped them together. Sam immediately moved so he was lying on Dean’s chest. He dropped off pretty quickly. There wasn’t anything to do, so Dean fell asleep too. 

For once Dean woke up before Sam. His nose was freezing, the ground was hard, and he could see from the sky that it was a while before sunrise. Not a great time to be up, so he tried to fall back asleep. Didn’t work; the ground was too fucking hard. How’d he fallen asleep so easily last night?

“Hey, Sammy, wake up,” Dean said. 

Sam turned his head so his face was completely hidden in Dean’s chest. 

“C’mon,” Dean said, prodding Sam’s shoulder. 

“Seep,” Sam said, muffled. 

“We need to hunt the fucking Wendigo, Sam,” Dean said, “You gotta wake up.” 

Sammy said something else muffled that added up to ‘fuck off’. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “What’ll make it worth waking the fuck up?” 

“Sleep.” Sam had turned his head to face Dean, so the stubborn word was clear. 

Dean rolled them over and frowned down at Sam. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam said. He closed his eyes. 

“Seriously, we’ve gotta hunt,” Dean said. 

“Bite me,” Sam said. 

Dean pretended to take him literally, leaned down and nibbled on Sam’s lower lip. Sam opened his mouth to let Dean kiss him. Dean kept the kiss soft, just enjoying it and trying to wake Sam up. Slow, gentle open mouthed kisses. Sam caught Dean’s head, pulled him closer. He put passion in the kiss and deepened it, and soon Dean was hard and panting above him. 

Dean’s hips rolled downwards, his clothed erection rubbing against Sam’s. Sam moaned into the kiss. Dean got messier and more enthusiastic, grinding down on Sam. He was just so damn beautiful, and his lips against Dean’s were fucking perfect. 

Sam rolled them over. His weight on top of Dean kept him from really moving. Dean whined. 

“I want in you,” Sam said. 

“Didn’t bring lube,” Dean gasped. He hadn’t thought the middle of the woods would be somewhere Sam would wanna fuck him, especially since they hadn’t gotten that far in a while. 

“Some other time, then.” Sam bit Dean’s neck, sucking messily with lots of teeth to mark him. 

That was hot, having Sam mark him again. And the bite of teeth against his skin- Dean had missed Sam’s rougher side since he’d chained him up. 

“Fuck me, Sammy, please,” Dean said, “Just use lots of spit. It’ll work. Please.”

“You’re giving me what I want, Dean,” Sam said, “No way I’d say no.” 

Dean whimpered and his legs spread. 

Sam disappeared under the sleeping bag. He tugged off Dean’s pants and underwear, bending his knees and opening them. The position left Dean feeling wide open and exposed as Sam sucked on his fucking hole. He moaned, his thighs shaking at the intense suction. 

“Sammy,” Dean whined, “Feels so good.”

Sam’s mouth went away, and he pushed a finger in. Dean moaned and rocked back into Sam’s hand. Sam worked the finger around for a moment, then pushed in another and scissored them. He shoved a third finger in, and it stung. Dean whimpered. 

Sam spat on Dean’s finger stuffed hole. He worked the spit in with his fingers, scissoring Dean’s hole open. There was something about having spit in his hole that Dean loved. Maybe it was the humiliation, or the fact that everything in him was Sam’s with no lube to add that bit of extra separation. Whatever the reason, it had him moaning and writhing desperately under Sam. 

“Please, Sammy, fuck me,” Dean begged, “Need your cock in my ass. Sammy.” 

Sam climbed back out of the sleeping bag enough for Dean to see his face. He thrust against Dean’s ass, his hard cock sliding in Dean’s crack and catching on his hole. Dean whined as Sammy rubbed his cock against Dean’s sensitive hole without going in. 

“Sammy, please.” 

Sam kissed Dean, a deep, overwhelming kiss that just got Dean even more desperate. 

“Need you in me,” Dean said, when Sam pulled back. 

Sam just kept rutting against Dean’s ass. Dean pushed his hips up, trying to get Sammy to fucking do something. Sam slowed his pace. 

Dean was flushed, sweaty. “Sam. Sam. Fuck me. Please. Need you. Fill me up. So damn empty. Sam, please. Please, I’m yours, fuck me. Take me. Sammy, please. Need you so bad.”

“You do beg prettily,” Sam said. 

“Yes, please, fuck me! Claim me as yours. So empty.” Dean wasn’t even sure what he was saying anymore. 

Sam finally thrust into his open hole. Dean moaned, and his cock immediately spilled cum onto his shirt. Dean’s body went loose and pliant, and he lay there dazed as Sam fucked into him. 

It took a minute for Dean to go from afterglow to way over sensitive. He cried out and thrashed, sharp pleasure pain shooting through his body. It didn’t normally feel so damn good to be stimulated when he was too sensitive and it hurt. But Sam’s sharp thrusts were making Dean’s spent cock twitch. 

“Sammy,” Dean whined, “Please, please.” He didn’t know whether he was begging for more or less. 

Sam fit his mouth over Dean’s. The kiss felt good, distracted from the pain as Sam took him. Dean felt his body calm down, and soon Sam was shuddering through an orgasm. He pumped Dean’s ass full of his hot cum and pulled out of Dean’s fucked out hole. Sam’s head was a warm, comforting weight on Dean’s chest as he lay half on top of him. 

“Love fucking you,” Sam said. He traced a heart on Dean’s shirt. 

“And I love being fucked by you, Sammy,” Dean said. He wondered if they’d ever get around to saying real ‘I love you’s. 


	39. xxxix

Life sucked. Dean and Sam spent the whole fucking day trying to find out where the Wendigo lived, and they didn’t find a damn thing. And then it rained. The weather report had said it’d be clear, but there was a sudden downpour with absolutely no warning. They both got soaked to the bone. Fucking mountains. 

The ground at their new campsite was fucking soaked and all muddy. Their sleeping bags were wet. Dean laid down the tarp and spread out the drying sleeping bags. It better not fucking rain again. 

“Gimme the paper with the symbols,” Dean said. 

Sam got it out. He looked up at Dean, his eyes wide with fear. “The paper’s soaked through. It’s all blurred. It’s useless.” 

“Son of a bitch!” The symbols on that paper were the only thing stopping the fucking Wendigo from coming into their camp and eating them both. 

“I can try to trace them from memory,” Sam said. 

“Will it work?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. 

There was no way they’d get out of the Wendigo’s hunting grounds by dark. Running wouldn’t work, and night was the worst time to fight a fucking Wendigo. 

“I’ll try to copy down the symbols,” Sam said miserably. 

“Fucking hell,” Dean said. He sat heavily on the tarp. Sam knelt at the edge of it and traced symbols on the ground. He seemed confident with most of it, but he wiped clean three of the symbols and rewrote them. One symbol he kept rewriting and rewriting, only giving up when the sun had already set. Sam’s hands were coated in mud when he came to sit next to Dean. 

“Did you get it right?” Dean demanded. 

“We’ll find out soon,” Sam said. He looked like he was trying to be brave, not like he knew he’d done it right. 

“Damn it,” Dean said. He got out his flamethrower and got ready to use it if the Wendigo came to get them. 

Sam tugged at the chains on his hands in a frustrated sort of way. It didn’t do anything. “If I die because of these stupid chains, then I’m blaming you,” he said. 

“You picked out this hunt!” Dean said. 

“Let’s just be quiet,” Sam said, “Maybe it won’t notice us.”

Dean laughed. “Oh, yeah, that’s totally gonna work.”

“Well, what’s your plan?” Sam spat. 

“I dunno, you’re the one who was in charge of the symbols,” Dean said. 

“How was I supposed to know it would rain?!”

“It’s the fucking mountains!” Dean said, “The weather reports are shit. You shoulda put the paper in something fucking waterproof!”

“You could’ve said something,” Sam said, “You’re the one who’s supposed to know what we’re doing.” 

“Are you trying to tell me that with that big brain of yours and all those fucking books you’re constantly reading, you never came across inconsistent weather in the fucking mountains?” 

“I didn’t think of it, ok?!” Sam said, “I know that. I’m not stupid.”

“Well, you’re sure acting stupid,” Dean said, “You’re not gonna last a minute, hunting like this.”

“I’m not a hunter! I’m not supposed to think like you. I’m the ki- the former king of hell. I’m not a foot soldier, Dean.” 

“Hunters aren’t fucking foot soldiers,” Dean said. 

“Yeah, they are,” Sam said, “They just don’t have a commander. Worst force ever.” 

“Hunters are vigilantes, Sam,” Dean said, “Heroes.”

“Which is why you were a good little soldier for your daddy?” Sam asked. 

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Why should I?” Sam asked, “It’s true. I did some stalking before we met, and you were a total drone. No more than a puppet. Some hero.”

Dean punched Sam in his fucking smug face. He watched Sam instinctively try to hit back, but he couldn’t. His wrist was stuck in chains. Dean felt good for a moment, then quickly felt bad. He’d punched somebody who couldn’t fight back, and he could see from Sammy’s face that he’d hurt him, emotionally more than physically. 

“You’re a fucking asshole, Dean,” Sam said. 

“Nowhere near as bad as you,” Dean said, looking away. 

Sam turned away from him and hunched in on himself. 

Dean felt like a jerk. Just cuz Sam had done worse when he’d been free didn’t mean Dean could be an asshole now. He was about to apologize, try to fix it, when something grabbed him. Dean scrambled to grab the flamethrower, but he was already being dragged into the woods, way up into the trees. He thrashed and hit out at whatever was dragging him, but it was fucking useless. 

The Wendigo. Fucking hell! He’d known this would happen when he’d seen Sammy’s face after he did his best with the symbols. He shoulda stayed prepared, not gotten distracted getting his frustrations out on Sam. Dean was supposed to be the professional here. 

Dean got up his strength and kicked the Wendigo as hard as possible, tried to launch himself out of it’s grip. It almost fucking worked, and then the Wendigo got a better grip on him. It’s claws ripped through Dean’s chest. He choked back a scream and kept doing everything he could to fight it. He was a Winchester! No monster was taking him down without a fight. 

Claws raked over his chest again. A slashing blow against the top of his head, a cut. Agony. Blood in his eyes. It hurt so much he couldn’t think straight, and he must’ve passed out. 


	40. xl

Pain. 

Burning. 

Blood. 

He tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn’t move. 

He was upright, he thought. He was dizzy and disoriented; it was hard to be sure of anything. 

He couldn’t see, so he’d do something else. He focused on hearing, listening. He needed to know if the Wendigo was around. It was quieter than a human, he knew, but not inaudible. 

There was a noise, small, a ping. It was repetitive, but in the softer, more natural way. Mechanical, timed noises felt harsher, cleaner. This was just the repetitive drip of water, somewhere in the cave. 

Other noises were only his own ragged breathing and the pounding of his headache. 

So he was alone. 

He was upright, he could tell that for sure by then. He was tied up, hanging like meat. His face felt stuck, trapped. There was something on his skin. A rusty, dry gunk keeping him from seeing. Fucking hell, it was his own dried blood. Son of a bitch. He tried to force his eyes open, but there was too much blood. He couldn’t move his hands much, but maybe if he worked at it he could get one free. 

The ropes were loose, rotten. Breakable. He didn’t know how high up he was, how far he might fall, but he didn’t have a choice. It was get the fuck out of here ASAP or wait around for the Wendigo to get hungry. 

It hurt. Moving hurt. His chest was fucking on fire. He slumped back, made himself breathe. It hurt. 

How was he gonna get out of this one? Sight was the first thing to go for. Wendigos didn’t produce melanin or something, so they were very pale white and easy to spot in the darkness. Sam had gone on and on about that earlier, for long enough that some of it had sunk in even though Dean hadn’t been listening. Basically, if there was any light at all he should see it coming. 

He couldn’t get his arms free, though. It was frustrating as hell. The ropes weren’t super sturdy and he ought to be able to get out of them, but every movement hurt his chest so fucking terribly that he couldn’t pull free. Dean needed some other plan. He tilted his head, lowered it. With minimal pain and a decent chunk of effort Dean was able to rub his eye on his shoulder. 

Dean heard clanking, the harsh clatter of metal on metal. A primal shriek that made his hair stand on end and his head hurt. More clinking, footsteps, a pained gasp. Dean tore his eye open in time to see Sam, face smeared red, stumble into the bit of the cave Dean was in. He was clutching a lit flare, and it gave off enough light to see by. 

“Sammy,” Dean said. 

“De,” Sam said. There was so much blood on his face. And was that part of his cheek, hanging open like that? 

Sam ripped at the ties, undoing them and freeing Dean, but a white blur charged into sight. It grabbed Sam, hurled him, there was a sickening ripping noise. 

The Wendigo was holding Sam’s hand. His detached hand.

There wasn’t time to think. Dean got the rest of the way free, stooped to grab the flare Sam had dropped, and slashed at the Wendigo with it. The Wendigo tried to strike him, but he dodged, and slashed with the flare again. Dean could only see with one eye, distance was hard to judge. The lit flare somehow ended up in the Wendigo’s mouth. 

Burning, bright red light. Dean looked away as the fire tore through the Wendigo. But there was oil splattered on some of the ground. It caught fire. 

“We gotta get out of here!” Dean grabbed Sam, pulled him up. He had to help Sam a ton to get him out of there, and he wasn’t much better. They limped through the caves at Sam’s slow pace. Dean tried to put pressure on Sam’s still bleeding wounds, but it was hard to do while walking. They couldn’t stop, though. Had to get out of there. 


	41. xli

Everything was a dizzy blur. Campsite. Packs. Bandages. Taping together Sam’s face and trying not to vomit. Their only chance was to get to a hospital, cuz that hunt hadn’t gone so well. Dean patched them both up as well as he could, listened to the clatter of falling chains when he unlocked Sam. They had eight miles to walk with all these injuries, and then an hour long drive. Chains felt pointless. 

Dean didn’t know how they’d made it back eight miles to the parking lot. His head was a blur of pain. He had to let Sam drive his Baby one handed. It would’ve hurt more to hand the keys over, but he was barely conscious and Sam would do a better job. 

Sam pulled over after driving for forty five minutes. He moved Dean to the driver’s seat and looked at him in a helpless way. He looked really fucking exhausted. Dean could drive for a bit. Soon they were at the hospital, he was parking Baby, they were walking inside. 

Dean went through the usual shit with the intake nurse, and he gave them medical bracelets with their fake identities and brought them back to rooms where they got their vitals taken and got asked the same questions over and over again. Dean got his wounds cleaned and bandaged, while Sam got taken away for testing. 

They gave Dean a shot. He had to sit there, while they poked him. They were worried he could’ve gotten rabies, and it made sense to give him the shot, but fucking hell did he hate it. Slashing his hand open with a silver knife to prove he was no shapeshifter? Cool. Getting stabbed by a needle and having weird shit pumped into him? Fuck no. 

After that they gave him antibiotics and painkillers and let him rest. That was better, but he was worried about Sam. Sam had been hurt pretty fucking bad. Dean didn’t know if he’d be ok. He’d live, obviously, but could doctors replace hands? Dean didn’t fucking think so. Dean fell asleep even though he was worried. It’d been a pretty long day. 

He woke up sometime later. Everything low key hurt, but he could move and breathe and everything, so that was good. There was sunlight from the window, so it was daytime. He got up and left the fucking hospital room, found a nurse in the hallway. “Where’s Sam?” he asked. His voice was rough from sleep. 

The nurse led him back to his room and told him he couldn’t see Sam. 

“Why not?” They couldn’t keep him away from Sam. Not after everything. “He’s not in surgery or anything, is he?”

“I can’t discuss medical information with anyone who’s not the patient’s family.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean said. He should have made their fake ids say that they were brothers or husbands. Both probably wouldn’t go over well, but he’d have to redo their ids and say they were married. For now he’d just have to not know. 

Sam would be fine. He was missing a fucking hand, but it wasn’t like that was fucking life threatening. He’d be fine. He had to be. 

They discharged Dean that afternoon. He had to leave, go to a motel room and wait around to hear about Sam. He was gonna head back to see if they’d let him see Sam, but he ended up fucking falling asleep again. Why the fuck did being injured have to make him tired all the time? 

Dean’s head felt fuzzy. He opened his eyes, squinted. Bright, glowing red letters said ‘666’ right in his face. “What the fuck!” Dean sat up. His head ached. He looked where the letters had been. The digital clock’s red letters spelled out ‘6:16’ like a normal clock. He’d misread it. 

There was a knock at the door. Dean got up, grabbed his knife, headed over to answer it. There was a little blond girl at the door. Something felt off about her. Monster? Probably. He pointed the knife at her, but waited to attack cuz he could just be being tired and paranoid. She could be selling Girl Scout cookies or something. 

She laughed creepily. “The knife won’t work on me, Dean.” She sounded way too fucking cheerful and singsongy. 

He stabbed her. It did fuck all, just soaked her Hello Kitty T-shirt in dark, gooey blood. “Son of a bitch!”

“You were supposed to ruin your relationship with Sammy when you kidnapped him,” the girl said, “Can’t have you two getting along.” 

“The fuck do you know about that?” Dean asked. 

She grabbed his knife hand, kept him from stabbing her while she moved lightening fast and tapped his forehead. 

Dean woke up in the motel bed. His mouth tasted funny. Better brush his teeth that morning. He sat up, feeling weirdly déjà vu-y. He’d dreamed something, right? Red letters, a little girl… he couldn’t really remember. Probably wasn’t important. 

He brushed his teeth, ate breakfast, and headed to the hospital to see Sammy. Hopefully he’d be awake and ready to get back on the road. Hospitals sucked. 


	42. xlii

“Hey, Sam,” Dean said. 

“Hi, Dean.” Sam’s face lit up. He couldn’t be that happy just to see Dean. 

Maybe he was just happy the chains were gone. It’d seemed like a good idea at the time, but now Dean wasn’t so sure. Sam seemed stronger now, healthier. If he decided he wanted to control Dean’s life again Dean would be screwed. The chains were in the car, so he could put them back on Sam as soon as Sam got out of the hospital. 

“How are you doing?” Dean asked, “Injuries messing you up much?” 

“I lost a hand, Dean,” Sam said, “That’s not something that goes away in two days.”

“Are your magic powers working?” Dean thought he sounded pretty fucking natural saying that. Hopefully Sam wouldn’t notice anything off. 

Sam shook his head. He lectured for a while about how bodies affect magic or some shit. It boiled down to Sam’s powers being weak and inconsistent for several days after a serious injury. Dean didn’t do much listening, cuz Sam’s nerdy lectures were always super boring. He woulda told Sam to shut the fuck up, but it might’ve made him suspicious. 

“You fucking ready to go?” Dean asked, when Sam finally shut up. 

“I guess?” Sam didn’t sound too sure. 

“Great,” Dean said, “Let’s get the fuck outta here.” 

“You don’t like hospitals?” Sam said, when they were in the parking lot. 

Yeah, Sam could think that. “Not a lot of good memories in places like that,” Dean said. It wasn’t a lie. 

He watched Sam reach for the door handle with his right arm, pause, and then fumble it open with his left hand. One handed Sam was gonna be pretty fucking inconvenient. 

“Are your injuries all healing ok, Dean?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean said. He turned the radio on loud. He didn’t like Sam. He didn’t want to talk to him. 

Dean drove away from the town. He didn’t have a case, so there wasn’t really a place to go, just a place to get away from. Something was wrong in that town. Getting the fuck out might make Dean’s head feel less wrong. 

A syrupy sweet love song started on the radio, and Dean turned it off. Sure it was rock, but that didn’t make it not gooey and stupid. He couldn’t take that shit right then. 

“Dean?”

Oh, fucking hell. Why did Sam have to take Dean turning the music off as an invitation to blabber at him? 

“The fuck is it?” 

Sam didn’t answer. He was looking at the window, not Dean. Fuck him. 

Dean scowled at the road. Sam was so fucking irritating. The hell was up with him? Had he been like this earlier? Dean’s head ached. 

Dean saw a motel and decided to stop there. He couldn’t take any more of being stuck in an enclosed space with fucking Sam. He pulled off the highway, found the motel. He didn’t bother getting a key for Sam, even though it woulda been real fucking easy. Sam only had one hand, it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. He’d be in chains real fucking soon if Dean had anything to say about it, too. He’d wait til Sam was asleep and then do it. 

“Go find a case,” Dean ordered, pointing at Sam’s laptop. 

“You really want a case this soon after the Wendigo,” Sam asked. 

“Well, yeah,” Dean said. 

“Dean, I just got out of the hospital this morning,” Sam said, “We’re taking at least two days off.” 

Dean sneered at him. “Fine.” He left to go to a bar. Fuck Sam, and fuck stupid unnecessary breaks. They were hunters. Or, Dean was a hunter and Sam was living with him, making him basically a hunter. Sam was supposed to be his prisoner. So he wouldn’t be a hunter, but he’d hunted the Wendigo with Dean, even though he was chained up. What had Dean been thinking about in the first place? 

Getting drunk would obviously help with this fucking weird mess. He’d get drunk, go back to the motel, tie Sam up, and then figure everything out in the morning. Only the first step in Dean’s plan ended up happening. He got drunk and fell asleep in the bar parking lot. 

His head was an achy mess when he woke up. The sun was bright and stung his eyes when he opened them. Everything kinda hurt. Why the fuck had he thought getting drunk would help? Fuck hangovers. 

He drove back to the motel. Sam was on his laptop; he looked up at Dean but didn’t say anything. There were bruises under his eyes and he looked pretty damn tired. Dean ignored him, drank some water and went to take a shower. Sam was still on his laptop when Dean finished cleaning up. 

“Something was wrong yesterday,” Sam said, “And the night before I thought something was happening. I assumed it was just my powers being off because of my hand.” 

“So?” Dean grunted. 

“Dean, have you felt off lately?”

“No,” Dean said. 

Sam rubbed his forehead. “I must just be tired.” 

“Get some sleep, then, since you don’t wanna fucking do any hunting anyway,” Dean said. 

“Why are you so set on hunting right now?” Sam asked, “Just do something else.” 

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Dean said. 

“Whatever.” Sam went over to the bed and lay down, curled around a pillow and buried his face in it. 

Dean took over the laptop and kept an eye on Sam to see when he could put the chains on him. Sam didn’t sleep though. He just lay there for fucking ages. Dean went over to him after a while, carded his fingers through Sam’s hair and sat next to him. Sam grabbed on to Dean and was asleep in fucking minutes. Convenient. 

Dean had to tweak the right hand chain to work on somebody without a hand, then he tied Sam up. Sam stirred while Dean chained him, woke up properly as Dean finished clipping the collar in place. 

For a while Sam didn’t say anything, just stared at Dean. It was fucking unsettling, and Dean didn’t like it. 

“Why,” Sam asked finally.

Dean didn’t have an answer for that, at least not one worth bothering to say. 

Sam turned away from him, lay down at the far edge of the bed and faced the wall. After he fell asleep it was a matter of minutes before he was grabbing onto Dean again. 


	43. xliii

Sam was already up when Dean woke that morning. He was sitting at the table, his face in his hand. Dean couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but it didn’t matter. He went and got some coffee, drank it. 

Sam sat up straighter, looked at him. Dean scowled. 

“Morning, Dean.” Sam tried to smile, but it failed and he just looked like a stupid bitch. 

“Find me a case,” Dean ordered, instead of responding. 

Sam tugged at his collar, making his chains clink. It was annoying as fuck. “I thought you’d say that,” he said. 

Fuck him. Whiny bitch. 

“I already found one,” Sam said. He was tugging at his fucking chains again. “In Montana. I don’t know what it is this time, but it’s killed three people in two months. Brunettes in their thirties, but that could be coincidental. It slashes their stomachs open, and their intestines are missing. Sound like your kind of thing?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, “Go get in the car.” 

Sam didn’t move. “Dean, can we talk first, for a bit?” 

“No,” Dean said, “Go to the car, now. We’re going to Montana.” 

Sam squirmed, chains clanking together loudly. “You can’t just order me around, Dean.” 

Dean slammed his hand down on the table. “Get in the fucking car, Sam. Right. The fuck. Now.” 

“Fine!” Sam got up, lifted his chin, and tried to stalk out of the room. The chains had him shuffling pathetically instead. 

Dean snorted and turned away to pack. He threw their stuff together and headed out to Baby. She was locked, so Sam had been stuck standing there, freshly scarred, with a stump for a hand, and all chained up, in the open parking lot where anybody could see him. He didn’t look too happy. 

Dean unlocked Baby, stuck their shit in the trunk, and got in. Sam was sitting in the passenger’s seat, staring straight ahead. His eyes were wet. He was so fucking pathetic. 

“Why are you acting like you hate me?” 

Did Sam ever shut up? Seriously, was half a second’s peace and quiet too much to ask? 

“Shut the fuck up, Sam,” Dean said. He turned the music on, loud enough that Sam would have to yell for Dean to hear him. 

Sam leaned way forward, reaching, and he fucking turned Dean’s music off. He fucking  _ turned Dean’s music off _ . Dean hit him. Hard. On the side of his face the Wendigo had slashed open. Dean’s fist tore a couple of Sam’s stitches open, and he screamed. Sam cowered against the door, blood leaking down from his cheek. Dean watched Sam gather a handful of his shirt, press it against his face to make the bleeding stop. Tears fell from his eyes and mingled with the blood. 

Dean was pretty damn sure Sam wouldn’t dare mess with Dean’s stuff again. He turned the music back on and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for Montana. 

It was great to be working a case. Just Dean up against an unknown monster, chasing leads, flirting with witnesses, trying to narrow down where the monster might be holed up, etc. He had Sam in the motel room to do the research, so Dean just did the fun bits and Sam did whatever. Sam wasn’t important. He was stuck and helpless, so he didn’t matter. 

Sam was kinda fucking useless, too. Dean had just told him to find out where the monster was, what it was, and how to kill it. Should be real fucking simple for a stupid nerd like Sam. But Sam had figured out fuck all, and it’d been two days. He had one job. 

Dean drove Baby back to the motel to check in and see if Sam had anything yet. He coulda called, but he was bored and didn’t want to just hear that Sam was a pathetic loser who couldn’t track one damn monster. Dude was a monster himself, maybe he was protecting the fucking thing. 

Dean stormed into the motel room. Sam was sitting in the corner, hunched over and cradling his stump to his chest. 

“Get up,” Dean ordered. 

“Hello to you, too, Dean,” Sam said. 

Dean kicked him in the shin, and Sam scrambled to his feet. He’d been crying again. Pathetic. 

“You figure out what it is yet?” 

Sam shook his head, staring at the floor. Dean grabbed Sam’s hair and jerked his head up. 

“Why the fuck not?” he asked. He stared into Sam’s reddened hazel eyes, and something felt off. Dean’s head pounded. 

“I don’t know,” Sam said, trying to pull away. “I’m sorry.” 

“Sorry’s not good enough,” Dean said. 

“I shouldn’t have to say sorry! I’m working left handed, with no magic. It takes time, Dean. I can barely reach the keyboard with these chains. I can’t go to the library to check anything. The WiFi doesn’t always work. You’re asking me to solve this and I CAN’T!” 

“You’re not even trying,” Dean said. He shoved Sam towards the table with the laptop. He shoved a bit harder than he’d meant, and Sam’s ankles were chained too close together for him to be able to catch himself at all. He fell, knocking his head against the table leg. 

It wasn’t Dean’s fault Sam was a clumsy idiot. He felt sorta bad, but not enough to do anything. “Imma go take a dump,” Dean said, and left the room. It was a good way to get away from whatever he’d done to Sam. Dean’s head ached miserably and he squeezed his eyes shut. The fuck was wrong with him? 

When Dean got out of the bathroom Sam was missing. Great. Just what he’d fucking needed. He went out into the parking lot, glanced around. No Sam. And he was so fucking tall he’d be pretty hard to miss. Dean shrugged. He went to sleep that night, not really worrying about Sam. The bitch had probably just run off. He’d come crawling back soon enough. 


	44. xliv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry

Sam was still fucking missing when Dean needed him to do research in the morning. The dumb fuck couldn’t even show up when Dean wanted him to do something. Dean went out to look for him. Sam couldn’t’ve gotten far with those chains on him. Dean was frustrated and pissed by the time he found Sam. 

Sam was in a river. Dean hopped out of Baby, went to drag Sam out. His hand was frozen onto the bank, just holding his face out of the water. Dean broke him free, dragged him out. Sam wasn’t moving. His eyes were closed, and he was frozen, practically made of ice. Dean stared at him. Was there any point to dragging Sam anywhere if he might be fucking dead? 

Dean checked for a pulse. There wasn’t one. Sam was dead. Dean sighed. He’d have to do his own research now, and that was gonna make this stupid case take even longer. Fuck Sam. Dean turned away, headed back to Baby. 

_ Sam was dead. Sam.  _

There was a whisper in the back of his mind telling him something was horribly wrong, and his head felt like it was on fire. Sam was dead. What the fuck was Dean doing? He’d as good as killed him, hurting him and driving him away, then leaving him alone with no coat in the freezing Montana winter. 

Dean choked on a sob and ran back to Sam. He couldn’t be dead. Sam  _ couldn’t be dead _ . That- that just- it couldn’t- Dean couldn’t even think. 

Sam was dead. He was still and frozen, not breathing, no pulse. Dean screamed. He dragged Sam’s body back to Baby, drove to the motel room as fast as he could. Probably broke a hundred traffic laws, but it didn’t matter. He’d killed Sam. Sam was fucking dead. How was that even possible? 

Dean would look it up or something. Find a spell or a magic fix to make Sam be alive again. There had to be something like that, because Sam being dead just wasn’t an option Dean would accept. Sam could not be dead. Dean carried Sam’s body inside the motel room. He turned the heat way up, because Sam was cold and dead and if he wasn’t cold then maybe he wouldn’t feel so dead and then maybe Dean would be able to breathe. 

Dean laid Sam down gently on the bed. The chains looked horrible against his dead, icy skin. Why had Dean put those on Sam again? Because he didn’t trust him? Sam had way more reason not to trust Dean. Dean couldn’t trust Dean. He was a horrible person. Why the fuck had he done any of that to Sam?

He loved Sam. He didn’t want to hurt him. And now Sam was dead. “I’m so sorry,” Dean sobbed. If only Sam was alive. Dean would do anything if it would stop Sam being dead. He could take the chains off. Sam had died chained up and helpless, lost in the dark and honestly believing Dean hated him. But he could take the chains off Sam. Give him a little bit of freedom that didn’t matter because SAM WAS DEAD. 

Dean carefully took the chains off. The skin under them had chafed and bruised from Sam tugging against them all the time. Those marks on Sam’s skin, they were all Dean’s fault. The bruises he knew Sam had under his clothes and hair, those were all Dean’s fault, too. He’d hurt Sam so much. 

Dean lay down on the bed next to Sam’s dead, cold body and held him, crying. What had he been doing? He’d hit Sam for no reason, froze him out, chained him up. What the fuck had Dean been doing? He’d hurt Sam. How could he do that? 

How was Dean supposed to move on, knowing he’d let Sam die? Sam was dead. How could he even live without Sam? He’d been alive before Sam made that stupid deal and ordered Dean to marry him, but Dean hadn’t felt much at all. He’d just been going about his days, not really motivated or alive or anything. He’d been a wreck since his dad’s death. And with Sam, he’d felt alive again even when things were bad. He couldn’t go back. He didn’t know how to anymore. 

And Sam was fucking dead. How was Dean ever gonna be able to do anything but think about that? Sam was dead. How could Sam be dead? He was always so alive. Dean checked his pulse again, just to make sure. Nothing. Sam was really, actually dead. But he couldn’t be! How the fuck could Sam be dead? Dean would fix this. He had to fix this. 

There was nothing to do. Sam was lying there, dead. Dead. Dean couldn’t fix dead. Sam was gone. He was gone, and it was all Dean’s fault. He could see Sam’s body, but he’d never see Sam’s smile again. Or hear his laugh. Sam was never gonna look at Dean with doe eyes and make Dean do whatever he wanted by looking a bit pitiful and pleading. He wasn’t gonna even ever launch into one of his stupid nerdy speeches that Dean never paid attention to. 

“Sammy,” Dean whimpered. He clung to Sam’s body and tried to pretend Sam was just sleeping. But he didn’t feel like he was sleeping, and Dean couldn’t fool himself for even a moment. Sam was dead. 

Sam was dead. Sam was dead. Sam was dead, Sam was dead, Sam was dead Sam was dead  _ Sam was dead SamwasdeadSamwasdeadSamwasdead _ .  _ How could Sam be dead?! _

Dean screamed soundlessly. Why the fuck was an awful person like him alive while somebody as perfect as Sam was dead? Not that Sam was perfect, but he never could’ve gotten Dean killed. And he’d cared, and loved, and been alive, and brave, and not dead. And now he wasn’t not dead.

Dean rested his head on Sam’s chest, like Sam had done so often with him. “I love you,” Dean whispered. 

Sam was still and cold under him. Dean sobbed. He shoulda just told Sam that, back by the Wendigo hunt when he’d first thought it. Instead, he’d listened to Sam ask why Dean hated him and he hadn’t done a thing. Sam had died thinking Dean hated him. Dean’s stomach rebelled at that thought, and he ran to the bathroom to throw up. Sam had died thinking Dean hated him. And Dean could never fix that, never even try to make up for it. He didn’t get a chance. He was so stupid. 

Dean wiped his mouth, flushed the toilet, went back to Sam. From across the room, Sam just looked like he was sleeping. But he wasn’t. His chest didn’t rise and fall, Dean could press his fingers to Sam’s neck and there was no fucking pulse. Dean had had plenty of people he cared about die, but this was different. This was Sam. His Sammy. 

Dean lay down next to Sam again, pulled him into his arms. He checked Sam’s pulse again. Nothing. It wasn’t like he’d expected another outcome, but he couldn’t handle Sam’s death. His brain was just stuck, he had to keep checking. Sam was all he had. But Sam was still dead, and he always would be. 


	45. xlv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason my autocorrect wanted to change the chapter number, xlv, to dog. I am so confused rn.

“Dean?” 

Dean screamed, panicked, and stared into Sam’s open hazel eyes. “Sammy!” he shrieked, “You’re alive!” 

“Of course?” Sam said, “Are you ok, Dean? Why are you holding me?” 

“You were dead,” Dean stammered, “You were dead, and frozen, and there wasn’t a pulse, and and you were dead! You were were dead, Sammy.” 

“It’s ok, Dean,” Sam said, “I’m ok.” 

He was stroking Dean’s back like Dean was the one who needed comforting here. “Sammy, you don’t understand,” Dean sobbed, “You froze to to to d-death. It was all my fault, and I didn’t even try to find you until this morning, and Sammy you you were were dead. Sammy.” 

“I fell in the river?” Sam asked, “I froze to death?” He sounded scared. 

Dean nodded. “I’m so, so sorry, Sammy. I’ve been horrid to you, and I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you again. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, Dean,” Sam said, “Just don’t act like that again.”

“I won’t,” Dean said, “I won’t, Sammy. Never gonna hurt you again.” He cupped Sam’s face, looking him over to make sure he was fine. The left side of Sam’s face was scarred. It was stitched closed neatly and looked good, except for the bit where Dean had torn it open punching Sam. The skin was bruised and torn. “I hit you. Why’d I do that?” His voice shook, and he didn’t even try to stop it. 

Sam’s soft, pretty hazel eyes dropped. “I shouldn’t have messed with your music,” he said, “I’m sorry, Dean.” 

“Dude, I hit you for no fucking reason,” Dean said, “That’s totally my fault. I was being a total dick. Not your fault, Sammy.” 

“So you’re not gonna be mad at me all the time anymore?” 

“No, Sammy,” Dean said, “I don’t know what came over me. But I’ll never ever hurt you again.”

Sam fidgeted. Dean knew if Sam’d still had chains he would’ve been tugging on them, but without them he didn’t seem to know what to do. “Should I be researching the case?” 

“You nearly died, Sammy,” Dean said, “You can if you want, but you don’t have to.” 

“People could be dying,” Sam said, “But… can you sit with me while I research?” Huge hazel puppy eyes were totally irresistible, not that Dean would’ve even considered saying no. 

He propped Sam up with pillows and covered him in blankets, even though he could sit up just fine and it wasn’t exactly necessary. It made Dean feel better about the whole thing. He opened Sam’s laptop and turned it on before giving it to him, not wanting Sam to have any more trouble one handed than necessary. And he sat next to Sam, close enough that they were pressed together. 

“D’you mind if I check your pulse?” Dean asked. He just needed to feel that Sam was alive. 

“Go ahead.” 

Dean put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and pressed his fingers against his pulse point. Sam’s heartbeat was strong and regular. Dean’s eyes got wet from pure happiness that his Sammy was ok. He didn’t move his hand, and Sammy didn’t object. It was the best feeling in the world, just Sammy’s heart beating. 

“I figured it out,” Sam said. 

The room had been quiet except for the click of the keys for a while, and Sam’s voice startled Dean. 

“Whatcha figure out?”

“The case.” 

Sam sounded so fucking unimpressed with him that Dean started laughing. 

“What’s so funny?” Sam asked. 

That just made Dean laugh more. 

“Dean!” 

“Sorry,” Dean said, “Just- long day.” 

Sam pouted. “Dean, it’s three in the afternoon.”

“And a fuck ton of shit’s gone down,” Dean said, “Neither of us have had breakfast or lunch, either. You wanna go grab something?” 

Sam shifted nervously, looked fearfully at the door, and snuggled into Dean’s side. 

“We can stay in,” Dean said. He played with Sam’s hair to soothe him. “We can just order a pizza, maybe.” 

Sam nodded. “That sounds better.” 

Dean ordered a veggie pizza with no cheese for Sam cuz he was a weirdo who liked that kinda thing, and got a normal pepperoni pizza for himself. He sat back down with Sam, put his arm around him again. 

“You said you’d found something out,” Dean said. 

“Yeah,” Sam said, “So get this, there isn’t actually a monster. It’s just a sick, messed up human serial killer keeping women’s intestines as trophies from his kills. He started with his girlfriend, then killed two other women who looked a lot like her. There isn’t a case here. Are you mad?” 

“Mad?” Dean asked, “Well, it’s gross. It’s awful, how twisted normal people can get sometimes.” He rested his head on Sam’s shoulder, pulled him closer. He’d basically killed his husband. How far was he from being that twisted? By a miracle he had Sam back, but what if he hadn’t? He might’ve done worse shit than any normal person could manage. Losing Sam woulda driven him insane. 

“No, I mean, are you mad at me?” Sam asked, “I found this case and brought you here, and you wasted time on something that’s the police’s job.” 

“Not something you coulda known,” Dean said, “It’s ok, Sammy. I’m not gonna blow up at you for something you couldn’t help.” 

“I’m scared,” Sam said, “I don’t know what made you start hurting me in the first place, and what if I do it again? Or you just go back to hating me for no reason? I don’t know how to trust you anymore, Dean.” Sammy started crying. 

“Can I hold you?” 

Sam nodded, hid his face in Dean’s chest. Dean stuck the laptop safely on the end table, scooted them down the bed, and lay down with Sammy held in his arms. He stroked his fingers through Sam’s hair and waited for Sam to calm down. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Dean said, “I’ve got you, Sammy.” 


	46. xlvi

Sam was gone. Dean woke up, and Sam was just missing. He should’ve probably been worried, especially considering what’d happened the last time Sam had gone missing, but he fucking wasn’t. He didn’t feel it. Sam could take care of himself, and if he couldn’t, it wasn’t Dean’s fucking problem. His forehead felt hot, painful. 

He wanted to hunt, he decided. Finding a hunt was pretty damn boring, so texting Sam it was. 

find a hunt rn

Quit being bossy. 

Dean scowled at his phone. What right did Sam have to call him bossy? 

fuck u. find a hunt or else

Sam appeared in front of him. Dean squawked in shock and jumped backwards. 

“Don’t fucking do that!” 

“Do what?” Sam asked. 

“Just appear like that,” Dean said, “It’s fucking creepy.” 

“Never bothered you before.” 

Dean shrugged. “Well, you can fucking quit it.” 

“You’re acting pretty weird, Dean,” Sam said, “Is something wrong?”

“The fuck would I tell you for?” 

Sam rocked back a step, a confused scowl on his face. “OK,” he said. 

“Go research a hunt,” Dean ordered. 

“D’you wanna help me with the research?” Sam said. 

“Fuck no.” Research was boring as shit. 

Sam went to his laptop and opened it, started researching. Dean paced the room, restless. He felt angry and he wanted to yell at somebody. But Sam was the only one there and he needed to do research so Dean would get to kill something. He had a thought. 

“Sam, how the fuck are you alive?” Was he some creepy monster pretending to be Sam? Cuz humans didn’t come back like that. He’d been so blinded by some weird freak out yesterday that he hadn’t thought of that, but Sam should not be fucking alive. 

“You warmed me up, Dean,” Sam said absentmindedly. He was looking at the fucking computer and half ignoring Dean. Not fucking cool. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you!” 

Sam looked at him. “What?” 

“You’re fucking disrespectful, Sam,” Dean said. 

Sam laughed. “What are you on?” 

Dean punched him. How dare he?! Dean was not fucking funny. 

Sam flicked his fingers and sent Dean slamming into the far wall. A force kept him pinned there while Sam walked over slowly. 

“Put me down! I hate you!” 

Sam ignored him. He put his hand on Dean’s forehead, and Dean felt something weird. In his head. He squirmed uncomfortably, his head aching.

“What the fuck? Sam, quit it.” 

Sam pulled back. 

“What the fuck was that?” Dean demanded. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam said, “I just had to make sure you were you. You’re under a curse that makes you an asshole.”

“You were in my head?! You son of a bitch! I fucking hate your monster ass.” 

“Don’t worry, Dean,” Sam said, “I’m gonna find a cure. I’m sure there is one, since you were able to throw off the curse yesterday when I died.” 

Dean tried to kick him, but he was still stuck. “Put me down!” 

Sam flicked his fingers and made Dean walk over to the bed and sit down. “I’m going to the library. Stay.” 

“I’m not a fucking mutt!” 

Sam vanished. 

Dean tried to get up, but he was well and thoroughly stuck. Fuck Sam. “I hate you,” Dean grumbled, “I fucking hate you.” 

He was alone for fucking forever. According to the clock it was a couple hours, but that shit was fucking broke. He could move his head, breathe, and twitch a bit, but that was fuck all when he was this bored. Sam was so mean. Why’d he do this to Dean? Dean hadn’t done anything. Sort of. 

Finally Sam got back. He sat down next to Dean like they were fucking friends or some shit. Dean could barely tolerate Sam’s stupid face, especially with that ugly as shit scar on his cheek. 

“Lemme fucking go,” Dean said. 

“I can’t,” Sam said. He laid his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean scowled and head butted him. “Ow!” Sam yelped, jerking away from him. “You’re a jerk, Dean.” 

“You’re the jerk, jerk,” Dean said. 

Sam snickered. “That’s your best insult?” 

“No, it’s fucking not,” Dean said, “You’re a scarred freak loser who can’t defend himself from anything even with magical powers. Which are creepy and disgusting as fuck, by the way. You’re a coward, and a monster. I hated you already. The curse didn’t do shit to me. I fucking hate you. Freak.” He spat at Sam. 

Sam stared at him with pathetic teary eyes. Loser. A moment later Sam was gone. Thank goodness. 

But without him Dean was back to being fucking bored. 


	47. xlvii

There had to be a way to fucking break out of Sam’s demon power hold. Dean would find it. And then he’d track Sam down and make him fucking pay for locking Dean up. But he had to get out, first. How the fuck was he supposed to do that? Be more extra still? Worth a shot. 

Dean held himself perfectly still for a minute, not even fucking breathing. Then he tried to move. He was still stuck, dammit. He could get his hand in his pocket. Maybe a nice, polite text to Sam would count and free him? Dean fucking hated the idea of being nice to Sam, but if it’d get him free he’d give it a shot. 

_ sorry I was a jerk _

There. That was fucking nice. It worked, too. Dean got up, stretched. His phone beeped, so he checked it. 

_ I know you’re not in your right mind, Dean. It’s fine.  _

Dean snorted. Sam had been about to cry, the pathetic bitch. The fuck was he saying it was fine for? 

He hoped Sam wouldn’t realize Dean had gotten out. A head start would be nice. Sam could usually find Dean pretty easily, so he’d have to do something to keep that from happening. A spell or something. Where could he get a spell without accessing Sam’s library at his house? Dean had no fucking clue. 

The library at Sam’s house it was. Dean would be in and out with some spell books and ingredients real quick, and he’d have to hope Sam wouldn’t think to look there. Baby still had some concealment spells on her from when he’d first kidnapped Sam, too, so that should help. Dean left the motel room and drove to Sam’s old house. 

He quickly found a panoply of different spellbooks. He kept seeing an interesting title that’d catch his eye, and then when he grabbed that book the one next to it looked interesting, too. By the time Dean left their old house he had at least half a dozen boxes worth of cool spellbooks he actually wanted to read for some weird fucking reason. What was it with these books and being interesting to read? Books were supposed to be boring as shit. 

Dean checked phone. Sam had texted him. Of fucking course he had. 

_ Where’d you go? I get that you want space, but I’m kind of worried.  _

_ I’m getting seriously worried, Dean.  _

_ You can just text that you’re ok if you don’t want to talk to me. That’s fair. But you could be hurt, so if you don’t text back in the next three hours I’m going to start tracking you.  _

Fuck him. The last text was over an hour ago, so Dean had better find a spot to do an anti tracking spell. Sam would fuck everything up if he popped up before Dean made himself unfindable. Dean pulled over in an empty field. He’d spotted a gas station a couple miles back if he needed to be in a building or some shit like that, but mostly it was all empty fields and forests everywhere. 

Witches were paranoid bastards who were desperate to avoid fucking everyone, so it was real easy to find a spell to stop anybody from tracking him. Dean just needed a map, blood, and rose hips. The fuck were rose hips? Dean found the super cool book with descriptions of all the magical spell ingredients and looked up rose hips. So, rose fruit, basically. 

Luckily there were rose hips in the spell ingredient box he’d stolen from Sam. Dean started a small fire, chanted in Latin while throwing rose hips into the blaze, kept chanting in more Latin while he set the road map on fire, and slashed his hand open, dripping his blood onto the burning map. 

And that was the spell. If Dean had done it right then nobody would be able to find him. Well, almost nobody. The spell had said something about no other spellwork or tracking device working on him, but it was really fluffy and vaguely referenced some monster that could track him down. A skinwalker, maybe? Or it could just be talking hypothetically. It was a really fucking fluffy description. Rhymed in Latin and everything. 

Dean still had more than an hour until Sam had threatened to start looking for him, so he didn’t worry about that. Sam wasn’t the kind of guy who’d start looking before he’d said he would. He probably thought Dean just needed space or some shit like that. No, Dean was done with Sam. Never wanted to see his stupid fucking face again. 

Dean got a fuck ton of texts from Sam that night. He didn’t bother reading them all, cuz they were boring as shit. Sam was just whining that he thought Dean might’ve been killed or kidnapped or some shit like that. Why the fuck was that his problem? 

The next morning Dean felt watched. Stalked. Like there was something after him. Had the spell had some freaky consequence he hadn’t realized? He kept looking over his shoulder. Dean drove a long way to get away from the creepy feeling. He got out of his car two states away. Something still felt off, but he was sure it was just his paranoia. 

A dog barked, and he jumped. He was way too fucking skittish. He’d lost whatever’d been following him two states back, he was sure of it. Dean checked into a motel room and started reading everything he could on the spell he’d used. There was more barking outside, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stick up. 

He looked out the window. There was a big, black dog with a fuzzy shape and bright red glowing eyes staring back at him. Dean squawked in horror and jerked away from the window, pulling the curtains shut. He thickened his salt lines. The fuck was that thing? 

Dean started looking things up frantically. He found it. “Son of a bitch!” It was a fucking hellhound. But he hadn’t made a fucking deal! Those things killed idiots when their deals ran out and dragged their souls to hell to be tortured until they completely broke. How the fuck was he supposed to fight a hellhound?

The book was illustrated, with brightly colored pictures showing off how graphic death by hellhound was. Bodies torn to bits, slashed and clawed and spewing blood onto the ground. It shouldn’t have freaked Dean out after all the shit he’d seen as a hunter, but knowing that it was about to happen to him and nobody could fight off a hellhound made it way worse. All the pictures were of mutilated people in broken salt circles, too. So the salt on the windows and doors wasn’t gonna fucking save him. 

Did he still have the demon killing knife somewhere? No. Fucking Sam had it back at the old motel room. Dean was screwed. Why the fuck hadn’t he thought to grab that blade? The text was pretty clear on regular weapons being fucking useless. He got out a silver knife anyway. He wasn’t gonna die without a fight, even if it was useless. 

There was a smash as the hellhound tore through wood and jumped through the wall into Dean’s room. Sure, the walls were thin, but they weren’t that thin. The hound shouldn’t’ve been been able to just crash through the wall with one blow. Dean had bigger things to worry about, though. 

The hellhound jumped on him. It snarled at him, its massive teeth right in his face, burning hot sulfur breath on his neck. He tried to slash at it, but it kicked the knife out of his hand. It was on top of him, weighed a fucking ton, crushed him. Dean tried to punch it in its fucking face, but it grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up, smashing his head down into the ground. Dean blacked out. 


	48. xlviii

Throbbing. Dull harsh pain all through his fucking head. Dean groaned. “What the fuck?” He’d been attacked by a hellhound. He’d lost. Dean forced his eyes open, stared up at blobs of orange, red and brown. “Am I fucking in hell?”

“You’re neither in hell, nor fucking,” Sam said. 

“Urgh, it’s you.” Fucking Sam had found him. It was better than dying, sure, but not by fucking much. “How’d you save me from the hellhound? It had me. Thought I was a goner.” 

“She,” Sam corrected, “She had you.” 

“She,” Dean said. Who the fuck cared about a fucking hellhound’s gender? It was a  _ hellhound _ . 

“And I didn’t save you, Dean,” Sam said, “I sent my hellhound after you to capture you. She was the only one who could track you with the spell you used.”

“You set a hellhound on me!?” Dean squawked, “What the fuck?” 

“I needed to talk to you.” 

Dean rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. “I hate you.” 

Sam sighed. “Broken record, Dean.”

Dean wondered if he could get the fuck outta there if he hit Sam in the head and ran. Worth a shot. But Sam caught Dean’s fist when he tried to hit him. Fucking typical. 

“The fuck do you wanna talk to me about?” Dean asked, defeated. 

“Something happened to you the night before I got out of the hospital,” Sam said, “You’re gonna tell me what it was.” 

“No, I’m fucking not,” Dean said. 

“That’s when you got cursed, Dean,” Sam said, “I knew something was wrong, but not what. I tried to send you a warning, but I guess whatever my magic did wasn’t enough. I need to know who did this to you to reverse it.” 

“The fuck would I tell  _ you _ for?” Dean said, “Go screw yourself, Sam.” 

“Don’t you want to not be under a spell?” Sam asked. 

“Sure, but it’s none of your fucking business.” 

“Just tell me about the person who cursed you,” Sam said, “Please, Dean. There’s no reason for you not to.” 

“No,” Dean said, “Forget it.” No fucking way was he telling anybody as stupid and annoying as Sam. 

Sam changed tactics. “Tell me now, Dean, or I’ll force you to.”

Dean snorted. “What are you gonna do, torture me? You’re way too much of a fucking softie.” 

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. His eyes burned yellow. “What happened the night before I got out of the hospital?” 

Of course Dean should tell Sam. Why hadn’t he done that already? He should do everything Sam wanted him to. “I had a funny dream. I woke up, and the clock had weird numbers. But then I blinked and it didn’t anymore. There was a knock on the door, and I went and answered it. There was a little girl there. She felt creepy, and she didn’t drop when I stabbed her. She said you and I were getting along too well or something, and she knocked me out. And that’s when I started hating you. Is there anything else I can tell you?” 

“Lilith,” Sam said, “I didn’t think she hated me that much, but she is a demon. The spell will break when I kill her. I’ll come find you when I’m done.” He vanished. 

Dean’s head ached. He hadn’t meant to tell Sam about the thing with the girl. Why’d he done that? It was like he’d been somebody who wasn’t him for a few moments. It was violating, disgusting. He was so not letting Sam get away with this. 

It looked like the hellhound hadn’t moved him. Baby was in the parking lot, the room looked the same as the one he'd checked into. And his magic books and supplies he’d gotten from Sam’s house were all there. A tracking spell was practically no effort at all. 

Sam’s signature jumped around the map a lot. Dean was sure he’d done the damn spell right, it wasn’t like it was hard, so Sam must be zapping around the country. How was Dean supposed to catch him if he was moving like that? Fuck. 

Sam settled down after a couple minutes. And he was pretty close to the motel. Maybe half an hour by car? Dean headed there. He was gonna find Sam, make him pay for attacking Dean with a hellhound and doing weird mind shit to him, and then sort out whatever spell Sam was on about. Couldn’t be that hard. 


	49. xlix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I can actually see where this story ends, now. Wow.

If there were street lamps anywhere near the parking lot of whatever building this was then they were busted. Dean hadn’t thought to bring a fucking flashlight, and the sky was too cloudy for starlight to get through. It was just fucking dark and oppressive. 

Dean had the demon blade, luckily, and it helped him feel a bit more safe. He held it and a gun loaded with silver bullets and headed into the fucking building. 

If anything it was darker inside. Dean found the light switch, but he felt uneasy about turning it on. That’d be a red alert to anything dangerous in the building that he was there. He crept farther inside, listening closely. There was light under a door. He listened at it, no sound. Light footsteps behind him, though. Too light to be Sam. 

Dean slipped into the lighted room, closing the door behind him. “Sam?” 

“What are you doing here?” Sam whispered. 

“Looking for you,” Dean said, “What’re you fucking doing, Sam?” 

The door opened behind Dean, and he whirled around. The little blond girl. 

“Hello, Dean,” she said. Fucking creepy. 

Dean stabbed her with the demon killing knife. She gasped, and her body flickered orange and yellow. She squeezed her eyes shut in pain, then opened them. Her eyes were white. It was sickening, looking at eyes with no fucking iris or pupil. Just disgusting. Horrifying. Or maybe it was just her, cuz Dean had seen blind white eyes and they didn't make him wanna hurl. 

The little girl pulled the demon knife out of her chest. Dean swallowed. 

“That hurt, you big meanie,” she said. She snapped her fingers, and Dean’s head spun. 

There was a sinking feeling in his gut. Was the room darker? He was suddenly panicked, fear just overwhelming him for no fucking reason. It was harder to breathe. Was the room closing in on him? Everything was just getting darker and darker. 

The girl froze, tensed. Her body jerked and flashed yellow. What was happening? Dean looked over, saw Sam. His eyes were glowing yellow, and he was doing something with his powers. Killing that little girl. Dean was all for killing that girl, but it was still fucking creepy. And why the fuck had he ever thought Sam’s yellow eyes were hot? It was creepy as shit. 

The girl’s body dropped. Dean’s head was on fire for a moment, then it cleared. 

“Sammy!” he gasped. He’d been being such a dick to Sammy for no reason. 

He could see Sam, barely. The room was really dark and it was hard to make out most of Sam’s face, but his eyes were that burning, bright yellow. Real easy to see. Those eyes were fucking amazing. Dean stumbled across the room to Sam, half hugged him and half collapsed in his arms. Sam caught Dean, held him gently. 

“What’d she do to you?!” Sam sounded frantic, panicked. That wasn’t good. 

“Why’s it so dark?” Dean asked. His voice shook, made him sound fucking pathetic. He blacked out, thought he’d fainted for a moment. But he just couldn’t see anything. 

“The light’s on, Dean,” Sam said. 

Dean shook his head. “Can’t see a fucking thing, Sammy.” 

“Dean, Lilith blinded you,” Sam said. 

“Can you take it away?” Dean asked, “Like that time you blinded me?”

Sam’s hand was warm on Dean’s forehead. Helped some of the fear and misery ease. Dean was still a fucking mess. It was like what Lilith had done had gone deeper than his eyes and fucked up the rest of him. 

“I can’t. Not with how this curse works,” Sam said, “It’s gonna get worse. The curse will take your hearing, your talking, your ability to feel touch. You’re eventually not going to be able to move. It’ll- it’ll put you in a coma. And I don’t know of a cure.” 

“So I’m gonna die, basically,” Dean said, “And there’s nothing we can do.” 

“We’ll find something,” Sam said, “Any spell can be undone. Any.”

“Least my head’s not fucked up anymore, since you killed Lilith,” Dean said. 

“ _ We _ killed Lilith,” Sam said, “Killing her would’ve drained me if you hadn’t wounded her first.” 

“What’re we gonna do, Sammy?” Dean asked, “I’m gonna fall asleep forever like Sleeping Beauty.” 

“True love’s kiss will not break this curse, or I wouldn’t even be worried,” Sam said, “You can’t research blind, Dean, so where do you wanna be while I look for something?” 

Dean felt uncomfortable and off at the idea of being left somewhere, alone. He didn’t argue, though. “The motel’s fine,” he said, “Be careful zapping Baby.” Dean barely noticed Sam zapping him someplace anymore. “We back at the motel room?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, “I’ll go find a way to make you better.” 

Dean couldn’t see him leave to know when he vanished. He felt antsy, off, panicky. He couldn’t stand being alone. “Sam! Sam, come back.” Sam wasn’t there. He couldn’t hear Dean. 

Dean tried really damn hard not to cry. 


	50. l

He fumbled with his phone. How to make a call blind? Dean hadn’t had to do anything like this before. He pushed buttons, hoped he was calling Sam and it’d go through. It didn’t. It fucking didn’t work. 

He didn’t know why he was panicking so much, why he felt so helpless and alone. Musta been a side effect of the spell. Dean couldn’t fucking get past it. He couldn’t sit in a motel room while Sam researched a cure. He just couldn’t do it. He tried again to call Sam, and again he couldn’t work the phone without seeing it. He was so damn bad at this whole not seeing business. 

Maybe there was something besides a phone call he could try. There’d been a couple messaging spells he’d noticed when he was reading earlier. One of them was pretty simple. He’d had a bit of trouble translating the Latin incantation, and it’d made him spend more time on it. He kinda had it memorized. 

Dean went around the room, found a stack of paper coffee cups. A knife was easy, a cut on his arm had blood pouring into the bowl. He said the incantation, waited a moment. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was softer and muffled because of the magic, but it was Sam and Dean had gotten through to him. 

“You gotta come back to the room,” Dean choked out. 

“Alright.” 

Dean felt Sam’s hand on his shoulder and dropped the cup, a sob catching in his throat. 

“Hey, Dean.” Sam’s voice was gentle. “I’m here now. What’s wrong?” 

“The spell’s making me freak out,” Dean said defensively. He reached for Sam, felt his face with his hands. “You were gone. You can’t leave me, Sammy. And I know I’m being stupid and you were just gone for a bit to find a way to break this stupid curse, but you were gone and I can’t handle that right now. You can’t leave, Sammy.” 

“It’s alright, Dean,” Sam said, “I’m here. I’m not leaving. We can do all our research together.” Sam took Dean’s arm, bandaged the cut. 

Dean still freaking the fuck out. He didn’t feel like Sam was there. Dean couldn’t see him, and he’d been not there before, and it just didn’t feel real somehow that Sam was back. “I need to feel that you’re here,” Dean said, “That you’re not gonna leave. Fuck me, Sam. Please.” 

Sam kissed him, deep and passionate and sensual. His lips were chapped and broken, and Dean could feel the scar tissue across half of Sam’s bottom lip. He pushed his lips back against Sam’s, felt Sam’s tongue against the seam of his lips and opened for him. He pressed closer to Sam, clutched at his shoulders. Damn shirts were in the fucking way. 

Dean broke the kiss to pull at the stupid fabric. “Off,” he ordered. 

“Strip for me, Dean, and I’ll get my clothes off.” 

Dean started yanking his fucking clothes off. He was eager and desperate, and he got naked pretty damn fast. 

“Lie down on the bed,” Sam ordered. 

It took Dean an embarrassingly long time to find the fucking bed. He did get to it, though, and he lay down on his back. He felt terrifyingly exposed. The sheer helplessness of lying there blind and naked was wild. He couldn’t see Sam, he could kind of tell he was there, but he had no idea what Sam was doing until he felt the bed move. 

Sam’s hand stroked up the inside of Dean’s thigh. “This is what you want?” Sam’s voice was soft, seductive. 

“Yes,” Dean said, “Please, Sammy.” He shuffled his legs further apart. 

Something moved Dean’s legs up onto Sam’s shoulders. It wasn’t Sam’s hand, so it must’ve been his mental power shit. Fuck, that had Dean whining. 

Sam’s finger was slick and warm, pressing against Dean’s exposed hole. It pushed inside. “We haven’t been together in a while, and you still open so easily for me,” Sam said, “And you’re hot, and tight. God, Dean.” He pushed another slick finger inside, worked Dean open. 

“Get in me,” Dean begged, “I can take you. Fuck me!” 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” Sam said. 

“I want you to! Make it hurt. I’ve gotta know it’s real. Sammy.” 

Sam pulled his fingers out, leaving Dean clenching down on air. He felt so damn empty. He  _ needed _ . 

“Relax,” Sam ordered. He rubbed Dean’s ass, his hand warm, rough and gentle. “I can’t fuck you if you won’t relax.” 

Dean made his ass unclench. He was so empty. He needed Sam, desperately. 

Sam’s cock nudged Dean’s hole. Dean whimpered, tried to fuck himself back onto it, but Sam moved with him, wouldn’t let him. 

“Sammy,” Dean begged. His hands clenched in the sheets. Why wouldn’t Sam fucking get on with it already?

“Let me do this, Dean,” Sam said, voice soft but still commanding, “Relax. Surrender for me. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Dean whimpered. He tried to relax, tried to be patient and let Sam do his thing. He just wanted to get taken fast and hard and brutal, wrecked so he couldn’t twitch without feeling Sam for days. 

Sam pushed in slowly. His cock was hot, hard, Dean’s hole stretched open around him. Sam started thrusting, slow and steady. The drag, the push, the sting of it felt amazing. Felt safe. Sam was in him, so he wasn’t alone in the dark anymore. Sam was with him. 

Sam sped up, fucked into Dean. Heat bled off his skin, their sweat soaked bodies moved together as Sam’s cock thrust into Dean. Dean was hard, whimpering and pushing himself back into Sam’s thrusts. He trembled, got close. Sam kept fucking him harshly, sped up until Dean was an inch from cumming. And then he slowed down. Deep, slow, steady thrusts. Nothing Dean could cum from. 

Dean whined his displeasure as his body slowly calmed down. Dean found he liked the slower pace. It felt intimate, close. He was more vulnerable with Sam fucking into him slow and steady than the rapid, harsh thrusts from before. Their breathing synced, Dean pushed himself back onto Sam’s cock in perfect rhythm with him. 

Sam sped up again. The buildup was slow, but intense. Dean’s breath came in gasps, he was too hot, soaked in sweat. His cock was so hard. Sam was fucking into his open, tight little hole so hard and fast and Dean was so close. Sam fucking slowed down again. 

“Are you fucking edging me?” Dean asked. 

“Do you mind it?” Sam sounded breathless too, which made Dean feel better. His thrusts were slow, dragging. Dean whined, his neck arching. 

“Next time you bring me to the edge I wanna come,” Dean said. 

“You sure not the time after next?” Sam said. 

“Time after next,” Dean agreed, “Sadist.” 

Soon Sam was speeding up again. Thrusting hard, fast, deep. Plunging into Dean, so good. Dean almost started to orgasm, and Sam stopped moving and grabbed Dean’s dick, stopping him from coming. Fucking sadist. 

“Fuck me,” Dean begged, trembling. His body was pent up, he needed to cum so damn badly. “Sam. Sam. Fucking move.” 

“Alright.” Sam’s hand was warm, soothing, on Dean’s thigh. He rocked into Dean’s body, going deeper with each thrust. The stretch, the rubbing against Dean’s opened hole, so damn good. He was moaning, writhing against Sam as Sam thrust faster, deeper into Dean. It felt so good, but Dean just wanted to cum on Sam’s cock already. 

Sam didn’t slow down. He fucked hard and fast into Dean, brutal, rough. Dean was so close. His body tensed up, his eyes rolled back, and he shook through his orgasm. His ass clenched down on Sam’s cock, and he heard Sam moan, low and rough. Warmth spilled into Dean’s body as Sam tensed above him. 

Dean was only half aware of Sam lying down next to him. His brain was all mush. He turned towards Sam, nuzzled his shoulder. “Love you, Sammy,” he mumbled as he drifted off. 


	51. li

His shoulder being shaken coaxed Dean out of a dream. Something about a sailboat he couldn’t really remember. The bed was soft, the blankets warm and fluffy. His pillow wasn’t very soft, but it was warm. He snuggled his head against it. 

“Dean. Hey.” 

“Sammy?” Dean asked. He opened his eyes, nothing. He turned his head, tried to see something, anything. He couldn’t. Of course he couldn’t. He was fucking blind, and soon he was gonna be dead, dumb, unable to feel. This spell was gonna really fuck him up. Dean sat up, found Sam sitting right next to him. He musta been sleeping with his head in Sam’s lap. 

“I found a cure,” Sam said. 

“You did?” For a moment Dean felt real fucking hopeful. Then his stomach sank as he thought about how magic worked. “What’s the fucking price?” 

Sam didn’t say anything for long enough for it to feel suspicious. “There isn’t one.” 

“Yeah, right,” Dean said, “Seriously, Sammy. What is it?”

Again Sam was silent for a bit too long. “It’s not a big deal. I can pay it easily enough. Let’s just fix you.” 

“Sam,” Dean said, “What’s. The. Price.” 

Sam took a moment to answer him. “I can pay it, Dean! Let me pay it for you. I’ve hurt you, so badly, so many times. Let me just do this one thing for you. Please, Dean, don’t ask.” 

It was real fucking hard to argue with something like that. Dean could hear tears in Sam’s voice, knew Sam was using irresistible puppy eyes. He could picture them easily enough, even blind. “Alright,” he said finally, knowing he was gonna regret this later. “What’s the rest of the spell?” 

“It’s not a perfect cure, just the best thing I could find,” Sam said, “It’ll stop the progression of the spell. You’ll still be blind, but it’ll just be blindness. And the cure won’t take away the clinginess and the panic, but it’ll make them pretty easy to get rid of. You’ll just need to feel perfectly safe for about a week and then they should dissipate on their own.”

“Sounds a lot better than dealing with the curse,” Dean said. He hated being blind, but he’d fucking figure it out. If Sam could adapt so easily to losing a hand, then Dean could learn to live without his sight. He fucking hated the idea, though. He wanted to see. He loved seeing. 

“You’ll need to do most of the practical spellwork,” Sam said, “But I can collect the ingredients and guide you through it. And then you’ll be better and everything will be fine.”

Except for whatever price Sam was planning to pay. With a curse this bad the removal price was not gonna be pretty. But maybe since it only stopped the curse from progressing and didn’t take away the stuff the curse had already done the price was smaller. And Sam was the boy king, he could handle a ton of shit more than most people. Dean told himself Sam would be fine. 

“What do I do for the spell?” Dean asked. 

Sam started guiding him through it. Lamb’s blood smeared on his eyes, down his throat. Chanting in Latin. Burning incense. It was kinda tricky to hear what Sam was saying. Dean had to ask Sam to repeat himself several times, and his voice was still real fucking quiet. Was the price Sam’s vocal cords or some shit like that? 

Virgin blood to put out the fire in the incense. More Latin chanting. Smoke in Dean’s mouth and nose. Coughing, pain. Silence. Dean felt Sam’s hand on his forehead, and a funny feeling washed over him. He opened his eyes, saw Sam in front of him. Sam mouthed something and vanished. 

“Sam!” Dean yelled, “Sam! Come back; where the fuck did you go?” He couldn’t hear himself. Why could he see? Had Sam lied about how the spell worked? Dean slapped the table. He smacked a metal spoon against a metal bowl that’d been lying there as part of the spell. Nothing made a fucking sound! 

Dean sat down heavily on the bed, tried to piece together what had just fucking happened. The curse must’ve taken his hearing while he and Sam performed the counter spell. That made sense. But Dean should be blind and deaf, still clingy and panicky, and Sam should still be with him. Dean was scared, sure, but nothing irrational. His emotions were all his. And he could see as well as anybody. 

Sam could transfer damage to himself from Dean, like he’d done that time he’d temporarily blinded Dean so long ago. That musta been what he’d done when he’d touched Dean’s forehead, he’d taken the fear and the blindness, the things he’d known about. And Sam hadn’t taken the deafness because it’d just developed and he must not’ve realized it was there. 

So Sam was somewhere alone, paying a steep enough price that he hadn’t been willing to tell Dean what it was, and he was blind, missing his right hand, and in a super vulnerable place emotionally from the curse. 

“Son of a bitch!” 


	52. lii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed updating yesterday. I had some wheat on accident, had a nasty allergic reaction. That’s why today’s chapter is late, too.

The tracking spell fucking exploded in his face when he tried to use it to find Sam. He was sure it woulda hurt his ears if they’d been working at all, but with his new deafness all he had to do was scrub the ash off his face. His eyebrows were only singed, so he figured that was ok. 

He looked it up, found that a violently exploding spell meant that the person he’d been looking for was in hell. Sam was paying a real nasty price, and he was doing it for Dean, to keep him from losing everything and going into a coma. Dean had to fucking get him back. And fast. 

Dean found a tracking spell he could use to find somebody in hell, but he’d have to be in hell to use it. He’d gotten to hell through the devil’s gate before, so he packed up his shit and headed for Wyoming. 

Calvary Cemetery looked pretty normal in daylight, until he got to the portal to hell. That never looked normal. It was a fucking nightmare, and he didn’t wanna go in. Dean’s feelings didn’t fucking matter when Sam was trapped down there blind and alone. He walked forward into hell. 

Hell was hell. It stunk, it was disgusting, there were random body parts and gross sludge everywhere. Dean had to sit to do the spell, and the ‘ground’ squished under him. Fucking disgusting. The spell was simple and easy, pointed him in a random direction. Everything looked pretty much the same in the bit of hell around that hell gate. 

Dean walked for a while, kept in that direction pretty well until it got darker. Did hell have night and day, or was he getting into a different bit of it? Sam had mentioned hell often enough for Dean to know it had varied geography, just like earth. Knowing he couldn’t keep his direction so well without the ugly reddish light, Dean sat down and did the spell over. It pointed him forward and a touch to the right, so that’s the way he went. 

Until he hit a damn wall. The fuck was he supposed to go now? He did the ‘find Sam’ spell, again, and it told him to walk straight into the wall. Fuck it. Had he done the damn spell wrong? It was so easy, and he’d been sure he had it right. Damn it! Did that curse word work in hell? Probably not, but he was gonna fucking say it anyway. 

Dean glared furiously down at the botched spellwork. There was no way through the fucking wall. But wait. Something looked a little off with the spell. It was pointing him forward, but also a bit up? Up he could do. There were still all those rotting ropes everywhere, and Dean climbed up them easily, found that at the top of the wall, which was apparently a cliff, there was a spot to go farther into hell. Like a hallway, cut into the rock. 

Torches burned on the walls, and fire danced on the ceiling. The floor was made of human leg bones, and Dean could see way down in the gaps between them. They didn’t look super stable, either. He swallowed nervously. Unstable creepy floors with holes in them going down into nothingness really weren’t his thing. But he had to keep going, had to find Sam. 

He did the spell again, and it sent him to a door. The doorknob was a fucking human skull. He turned it, cringing at the moldy flesh against his hand. There was fire on the other side of the door, fire and Sam. The fire was on the ground, totally blocking the doorway. The room didn’t look smokey and the fire wasn’t spreading at all, so Dean didn’t worry too much about Sam getting burned or anything like that. 

Sam wasn’t looking too good, though. He was in a glass cage, spread out and tied naked to a table. Dean couldn’t hear, but Sam was struggling and his mouth was wide open, his throat straining like he was screaming his fucking heart out. Nobody else was in the room, and Dean didn’t see anything that looked like it’d be hurting Sam. Hell probably had tortures he just didn’t get. 

Dean didn’t have anything to put out the fire with, and searching for a spell would take way too fucking long. How was he gonna get across that? It was too wide to jump, but he could run through it pretty fast. Rolling was supposed to put out fires pretty quickly, and he could ditch his jeans and shoes if they wouldn’t stop burning. He could make it. 

Dean ran forward through the fire to get to Sam. “Ohgodholyfuckinghellfuck!” His legs were on fucking fire! He tried the rolling on the floor thing, then yanked off his burning shit and scrambled away from it. His feet and legs were singed, but intact. Phew. Fucking hell. 

He hurried to the cage. “Sammy!” Sam was still screaming, straining, absolute panic and fear on his face. Dean opened his mouth to yell again, but something hit him in the back of the head before he could. 


	53. liii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: rape. It’s not too graphic cuz I’ve been trying to avoid triggering myself lately, but it’s very much there.

Splitting headache. Ow. Fucking hurt. Dean forced his eyes open. He tried to talk, but he was fucking gagged. He was all tied down, trapped. All he could do was look straight ahead, where Sam was tied to a table in the glass cage, maybe five feet from Dean. He’d been so damn close to getting Sam out. 

Who’d captured him? He was tied too much to turn his head properly, but he couldn’t see anybody else in the room. Normally he’d listen for breathing or footsteps, but that was out. A guy walked into Dean’s field of vision, startling him. He’d seen that guy before somewhere. 

Oh no. Oh fuck no. It was Alistair. Alistair had Sam, tied up and spread out naked. This was bad. This was the fucking worst thing that could’ve happened. 

Alistair walked in front of Dean and smiled at him. So goddamn creepy. Alistair started talking. Dean didn’t know how to lip read, but he understood disgust and condescension, and he caught the word bitch at one point. 

Alistair seemed to catch on to the fact that Dean had no fucking clue what he was saying. He overannuciated, and Dean caught more words. Jess was alive? Sam had betrayed him. Sounded like Alistair thought Dean was gonna be shocked and horrified to hear that Sam had spirited away his murderous ex and tricked Dean into killing a fake. Dean wasn’t angry, or surprised. Maybe a bit disappointed, but it’d happened a while ago when Sam and Dean’s relationship hadn’t been going so well. He wasn’t gonna be mad at Sam now, after Sam had done so much for him. 

Alistair got angry when Dean didn’t care or blame Sam, threatened to make Dean watch Sam cheat on him with Alistair. It was a horrifying threat, and there wasn’t a thing Dean could do when Alistair stepped into the glass cage and went to Sam. Even if Alistair was planning to give Sam an option, which Dean really fucking doubted, the spell Sam was under would make his consent really fucking dubious. Dean had been under that spell. If he hadn’t had Sam he probably woulda let anybody fuck him, whether in his right mind he woulda been willing or not. The panicked, intense desperacy for touch and contact after just being alone for ten minutes had been totally overwhelming. 

Alistair undid the ties on Sam’s arms. Sam reached up. Dean could easily read the small, frightened whimper on Sam’s lips. Sam’s fingers stroked along Alistair’s shoulder. Alistair undid the rest of the ties holding Sam down. 

Sam sat there, trembling. “Hold me?” Sam’s lips were so much easier to read than Alistair’s. 

Alistair fucking kissed Sam. It was sickening. Sam yielded to Alistair’s lips, pressed closer to him. Alistair threw Sam against the glass in front of Dean, pushed inside him, started fucking him. 

“No,” Sam’s lips read, “no.” Tears tracked down his face from unfocused eyes. 

Dean’s wrists hurt from fighting his bonds so hard. He had to get to Sam! He had to make this stop, somehow. 

“Dean,” Sam said. 

Dean had misread that, right? Sam didn’t have any reason to think Dean was there watching him, or even in hell at all. 

“Dean, help,” Sam said. 

Alistair pulled out, struck Sam on the side of the head, knocking him down. Sam lay there on the floor until Alistair dragged him up and threw him back onto the table. Sam just flopped there limply, the most heartbreaking look of despair on his face. He didn’t know Dean could see him. Sam wasn’t hoping to be rescued, he was just crying out for Dean because he was too broken to do anything else. 

Dean watched, helpless, as Alistair got out a knife and made a cut on the inside of Sam’s arm. Alistair was saying something, his lips moving too fast for Dean to figure it out. Sam nodded in response. What the fuck had Alistair said? 

Alistair put the knife in Sam’s hand. Dean expected Sam to at least try to stab Alistair or something along those lines, but instead Sam turned the knife on himself. He cut into his own arm, the knife shaking as he cried. Sam made three cuts before he paused. It looked like he was watching his blood drip onto the floor, but Dean knew he was blind. So Sam was just frozen, staring into darkness. 

Alistair hit Sam. Sam toppled to the side, the knife slipping from his hand and making a shallow cut on his leg. Sam whimpered, tucked his arms over his face, tried to curl into a ball. Alistair wouldn’t let him. He spread Sam out, tied him down. In a position that left him sexually exposed. Fucking hell. 

Dean  _ had  _ to escape. No other option. So how would he do that? He had to help Sam, he just had to. There had to be a way. Maybe if he dislocated one of his thumbs he could get his hands free. Worth a shot. Dean tried to focus on pulling at the right angle to maybe free himself, tried not to watch Alistair force his cock into Sam’s body. He got his hand free! 

It wasn’t easy to get the rest of him free, but he managed it. Dean grabbed his knife, crept toward the cage. He needed to get as close as he could before Alistair noticed him. It’d give him a better shot, even if it left Sam to get raped longer. Alistair was pretty distracted with Sam’s body, so Dean figured it was the best time to get the cage open. He fumbled for a few moments with the lock, then went inside. 

Alistair was sucking on one of the wounds Sam had fucking cut into himself, erratic thrusts shook the table they were lying on. Dean came forward. Alistair looked up, finally saw Dean. It was too late for him, though, and Dean stabbed him in the fucking heart with the demon knife. 

Alistair tensed up, his body lighting up yellow and orange as he came in Sam’s ass. He didn’t die, though. Alistair’s eyes turned white like Lilith’s, and he turned his fucking creepy smile on Dean. 


	54. liv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost didn’t manage to write this, but I didn’t wanna miss two days in a row. I missed yesterday, right? I don’t know.

Sammy said something. The lost helplessness of Sam’s question was clear even though Dean couldn’t fucking hear him. 

Alistair flicked his hand and sent Dean flying. He hit the glass wall and it shattered, the glass falling all around him and cutting him. 

“Why the fuck aren’t you dead already?” Dean was desperate, furious. Alistair shoulda fucking died! What was Dean gonna do now? 

Alistair snorted. “Your little knife isn’t enough to kill me. Not with a wound like this.” At least Dean thought he’d said something along those lines. 

Dean staggered to his feet, ready to give slashing or beheading a shot. Alistair flicked his hand again and knocked Dean down. 

Dean watched Sam reach up, run his hand along Alistair’s chest. His stomach churned. Why did Sam always have to be touching Alistair? Dean got that the spell made him clingy and desperate not to feel alone, but he hated watching it. Sam’s fingers found the demon knife. He grabbed the handle and twisted it sharply, pushed it farther into Alistair’s chest. Oh. 

Alistair grabbed the scarred left side of Sam’s face and dug his fingernails deep into Sam’s skin, tearing loose a handful of flesh from Sam’s cheek. But Alistair’s body lit up yellow again as he did that, deeper inside of him and brighter. And he finally did die. Sam whimpered in pain and pulled away from Alistair’s body. 

Dean got up and ran to Sam’s side. “Sammy?!” 

Blood poured from the torn flesh of Sam’s cheek. Enough blood that Dean wasn’t surprised when Sam fainted on him. Dean ripped his shirt off and pressed it to Sam’s face. The shirt fucking soaked through with Sammy’s blood, so Dean ditched it. He ran out of the cage, found his blackened pants. Hopefully they’d be enough to staunch the bleeding. Sammy couldn’t die now, after Dean had just gotten him back. 

Dean got Sam’s face to quit bleeding and breathed easier. Sammy wasn’t just gonna die or anything. Now to get them the fuck out of hell. The fire in the doorway had died at some point. It’d probably been Alistair’s power keeping it burning or some shit like that, since it’d gone out about the time he died. 

Sam was heavy. And super tall. He was really hard to drag through hell. And he was naked, so Dean had to be careful with him to avoid giving him fucking rugburn. Luckily, Sam came to pretty soon. But he thrashed and panicked and yanked away from Dean. Sam scrambled backwards into a wall, cowering. 

“Hey, Sammy, it’s me,” Dean said. 

Sam hesitated. His eyes filled up with tears, and he crawled forwards toward Dean. Dean hugged him, but Sam was stiff in Dean’s arms and fucking crying. Dean pulled back. “We’ve gotta get out of hell, Sammy,” he said, “Can you walk?” 

Sam nodded. He got up, his head moved like he was looking around. “Which way do we go,” he said. 

“Is it alright if I touch you to lead you?” Dean asked. 

Sam’s head lowered, and it was a few moments before he answered. He said something Dean couldn’t catch, and held out his hand. Dean took it and led Sam down the corridor. They reached the cliff edge. Dean swallowed. He’d been in such a rush to rescue Sam earlier that he’d just powered through his nervousness about heights. 

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Sam asked. He looked scared. 

“Nothing,” Dean said. 

Sam didn’t look reassured. He asked something else, lips moving too quick for Dean to follow. 

“Can you repeat that?” 

“What?” Sammy took a shaky breath. “Why are we stopping?” 

“We, uh,” Dean said, “We gotta climb down.” 

Sam nodded. He dropped Dean’s hand, knelt gracefully, and crawled forward, feeling for the cliff edge. Dean noticed the blood smear on Sam’s ass and inner thighs for the first time. He felt sick to his stomach. 

Sam started climbing down, and Dean followed. If Sam could climb down blind, then Dean could climb down just fine. He just really fucking needed to not look down. Sam was ahead of Dean at first, but then Dean caught up to him. Sam was just sitting there. He looked tense, panicked. 

Dean climbed to next to Sam, saw that he was crying and talking too fast to follow. “Hey, Sam,” Dean said, “Slow down.” 

Sam was shaking. He tried to scoot towards Dean, but couldn’t really with how he was holding on. He reached out towards Dean with the stump arm, still talking super fast. 

It took a moment to click in Dean’s head. Sam was still under the panicky clingy spell. And Dean hadn’t been able to hear him and answer when Sam started asking for reassurance. So now Sam was begging frantically in a total fucking panic, with no idea why Dean hadn’t been answering. 

Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m here, Sam. You can calm down.” 

Sam leaned into Dean’s touch, a sob on his lips. 

Dean glanced down at the red mist nervously, scooted closer to Sam on the fucking unsteady ropes and tucked his arm around him. He wiped the tears from Sam’s cheeks. Sam leaned against Dean, and Dean held him until Sam’s shoulders stopped shaking and his breathing got more even. 


	55. lv

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s tricky to write when you’re near the end of a story. I’m thinking two more chapters? Maybe?

“Alistair didn’t rape me!” 

Dean knew Sam’s voice woulda been shrill and hysterical if he could hear it. 

“What d’you call it, then?” Dean said. 

“It was consensual,” Sam insisted, “It must’ve been. I agreed at some point, and then forgot about it, but it wasn’t rape!” 

“Pretending shit didn’t happen doesn’t make it hurt less,” Dean said. 

“Shut up!” Tears trembled at the corners of Sam’s eyes. 

“You’re gonna hafta deal with this sometime, Sammy,” Dean said, “Fucked up stuff like this- it’s better to just talk it through. Get it over with.” 

“Go away.” The floor trembled from Sam’s anger. 

Dean figured he better get the fuck outta the motel room, give Sam some space. The last thing he needed was Sam blowing shit up. He leaned against the wall outside, stared out into the parking lot. It’d been a fucking long couple of days. Dean was only alone for a bit before Sam stepped outside. His cheeks were tearstained and he hugged himself. 

“Dean?” 

Dean touched Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, Sammy.” 

Sam threw himself into Dean’s arms and started sobbing. 

Dean steered Sam back inside. “It’s ok, Sammy. I’ve got you.” 

Sam said something into Dean’s shoulder. 

“You gotta look at me when you’re talking to me, remember?” Dean said, “Can you look at me?” 

Sam shook his head, his face still buried in Dean’s shoulder. 

“Alright.” Dean sat them down on the bed and just held Sam, waited for him to calm down. It didn’t take too long. 

Sam looked real fucking fragile. His eyes met Dean’s, soft, pretty hazel shot through with red, wet and swollen. “You said something, Dean…” 

“Go on, Sammy,” Dean prompted after a minute. 

“You probably didn’t mean it,” Sam said, “It was when you were under the spell.”

Dean’s mind jumped to a whole ton of fucking awful shit he’d said to Sammy under spells. “What’d I say?” He tried to keep his voice neutral. 

Sam’s sightless eyes dropped to his lap. 

Dean prepared for it to be a fucking nightmare. He’d just reassure Sam that he hadn’t meant a thing he’d said. 

“You said you loved me.” 

Dean blinked. “I don’t remember that,” he said. Real fucking weird. He’d said that? To Sam?! Oh, no. 

Sam stood up, pulled away from him. “Right, of course,” he said, “It was just the spell making you desperate for affection and you weren’t acting like yourself. Got it, Dean. You were barely awake, anyway.” He smiled at Dean, a forced smile that looked like he was about to start fucking crying again. 

Dean needed to fix this. He stood up, took Sam’s hand. Sam tried to pull away, but there was no force in the movement and Dean didn’t let go. Sam turned his head away from Dean, his shoulders drooping. Dean caught Sam’s chin in his free hand, gently pulling Sam back around to face him. 

“I said I didn’t remember telling you I loved you,” Dean said, “Not that I hadn’t been thinking it. That I didn’t mean it. Cuz I did mean it, Sammy, when I told you I loved you.” 

Sam squeezed Dean’s hand. “Can I kiss you?” 

Dean leaned up and pressed his lips to Sam’s. The kiss was soft, chaste. Pretty unusual for them. But Sam was skittish and hesitant, and Dean didn’t wanna do anything that’d risk scaring him. It was good, this delicate, barely there brush of lips against lips. Their bodies weren’t even touching. 

Dean moved his hand to Sam’s neck, and rubbed circles on his skin. Sam sighed softly, leaned into the kiss, made it just a touch deeper. His thin, chapped lips were soft against Dean’s, his movements sensual. Dean’s hand moved to Sam’s hair, but Sam pulled away. 

“Thanks,” Sam said. Everything about him felt so fragile now. “I’m glad you love me. It helps, makes me feel safer.” 

Dean noticed Sam didn’t say it back. That was fair and everything, he got it. He wished- but it was fine. 


	56. lvi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this flow ok? I dunno. It doesn’t quite feel like it to me.

“Alistair said something about Jess,” Dean said, “Can you tell me what the fuck that was about?” He tried to keep his tone gentle. Sam was real fucking jumpy lately. 

“I lied to you,” Sam said. 

“Shocker,” Dean snarked. 

Sam shrunk in on himself. 

Dean sighed. He pulled Sam gently into his arms and held him close. “I’m not mad at you,” Dean said, “Just tell me the truth now.” 

Sam nodded. “OK.” He traced a pattern on Dean’s shirt with his index finger. It took a minute for him to say anything. “I don’t actually remember if I lied. I might've just not said some important things. Which is just as bad, I know. I felt awful about it.” 

“What’d you do?” Dean pushed. 

“I put Jess in a safe house and tricked a shapeshifter into pretending to be her so you would kill him instead. I just- I used to love her, Dean. I didn’t want her to die.” 

“That’s not that bad, I guess,” Dean said. 

“It was why I started demon blood,” Sam said, “Ruby said it’d make everything hurt less. Everything would be easier. But I’d already been treating you kinda badly, and the demon blood made me care less about you. And I did all sorts of horrible things, and I’m so, so sorry.” Sam’s head ducked down, and he hid his face in Dean’s shoulder. His whole body was shaking. 

“It’s alright now, Sam,” Dean said, “I forgive you. It’s over. We’re good.” 

Dean felt Sam’s lips move against his shoulder. 

“Deaf, remember? You gotta lemme see your face, Sammy.” 

Sam looked up at Dean, his eyes red from crying. He’d been crying so fucking much lately. “I’m so glad you’re a witch.” 

Dean musta misread that. “Sorry, what?” 

“If you weren’t a witch then you couldn’t have beaten me,” Sam said. 

Dean knew he hadn’t missed what Sam had said. Still made no fucking sense, though. “The fuck are you on about?” 

“You’re a natural witch,” Sam said, “It’s why magic comes so easily for you. You don’t think everybody’s like that, right?” 

Dean liked magic texts, and spells were doable and kinda fun. It made sense. He could process that bit, with a bit of work. “No, the other bit. What’s this about you being fucking happy I beat you? When are we talking about?” 

“First time you put me in chains ringing any bells?” Sam asked, “I was being an abusive dickhead. You could’ve just run away, but you defeated me and brought me with you. And I’m not saying I handled it well at the time, but you gave me a second chance by doing that. So I’m glad.” 

“I guess that makes sense,” Dean said, “How did I defeat you?” That’d always seemed impossible to him. Ridiculous. Sam shouldn’t’ve gone down so easily with how powerful he was. 

“You had help,” Sam complained, “Lilith sabotaged me. She wanted the apocalypse, and I was wrecking all her plans. The seals started breaking very fast once you kidnapped me. Killing her was the final one, though, and we broke it too early. Someone would have to be able to resurrect her to get the end of the world going again.” 

“So we’re safe,” Dean said. 

“Comparatively, yes,” Sam said, “Azazel’s dead, Ruby’s dead, Lilith’s dead, Alistair’s dead. I’m the last really powerful demon on the playing field.”

“Then why aren’t you healing yourself, Sam?” 

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “I’m still too hurt. My body’s recovering, and my magic with it.” 

“Sammy,” Dean said. 

Sam fidgeted unhappily. “I can heal your deafness,” he said. 

“That’s not what I asked,” Dean said. 

Sam’s eyes filled with fucking tears again. “I’m scared. And I hate myself. And I don’t matter, so my magic won’t fix me because it’s not worth the effort. Why do you even stay, Dean? It’s pointless. I’m pointless.” 

“So you can’t heal yourself, because you hate yourself and don’t think you matter enough to bother with,” Dean said. 

“Yes!” Sam was crying. “You see? I’m right. I don’t matter because he didn’t care, and he didn’t listen, and he wouldn’t stop. I’m worthless, or he would’ve stopped. Why wouldn’t he stop?!” Sam’s fingernails turned into claws, and he raked them down the inside of his handless arm. He scored fucking deep, nasty cuts into the delicate skin, blood pouring across his lap. Shit. 

“Sam! Sam, stop,” Dean yelped. He ripped his shirt off and used it to put pressure on the cuts. “Don’t fucking do that!” 

“He didn’t care.” Sam just sounded lost, not like he was gonna start fucking shredding his arms again. “Please just let it bleed.” 

“No!” Dean said. 

Sam flinched. 

Dean hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. “No,” he repeated softly, “Your worth as a person doesn’t come from how anybody treats you. You matter just because you’re you, Sam.” 

“It doesn’t feel like that,” Sam said. 

“At least promise you’re not gonna hurt yourself,” Dean said. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” Sam offered. 

“What kind of deal are we talking about here?” Dean said. 

“I’ll promise not to hurt myself again if you let me heal your hearing.” 

“Why is this a deal?” Dean asked, “What do you get from this, and why do you think I’d say no to you healing me?” 

“I’ve hurt you so much,” Sam said, “I want to fix it. Let me fix it, Dean, please. I can fix this.” 

“I told you I forgave you already,” Dean said. 

“If you let me heal you maybe it’ll sink in,” Sam said. 

Dean did some quick thinking. “You think you’re gonna go deaf. If I let you heal me.” 

“No,” Sam said, “Well, yes. Probably.”

“I can’t let you go deaf, Sammy,” Dean said, “You’re already blind. You wouldn’t be able to communicate at all.” 

“And that might help,” Sam said miserably. 

“I want you to promise that if you go deaf, you’ll talk to me and let me know what you want and how you’re feeling. I need to be able to help you and take care of you, or there’s no deal.” 

“Agreed,” Sam said, “I can do that. Promise you won’t let anybody else near me? And you’ll be there?” 

“I’m gonna hafta go on grocery runs,” Dean said, “I promise I’ll be with you every minute I can be.” 

Sam nodded. “Deal.” He reached up and touched Dean’s forehead. Sam cried out softly in fear and grabbed Dean’s shoulder. Dean heard him. Heard him crying out. 

“Hey, Sammy, can you hear me?” 

Sam sobbed softly, looking around the room with wide, sightless eyes. He couldn’t see and he couldn’t hear. That left him so fucking powerless. Dean was freaking out. How was he gonna manage to take care of somebody this helpless and dependent on him? 


End file.
